


Tainted Love

by D_elfie



Series: Love in the Time of the Blight [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anders Positive, Angst, Blight Cure, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Gay Character, Depression, Disease, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, Grief/Mourning, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Modern Thedas, Non-Justice Anders (Dragon Age), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rare Pairings, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-03-05 01:29:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 55,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13377243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_elfie/pseuds/D_elfie
Summary: Doctor Anders goes in search of a cure to Blight sickness and reaches out to one of the only experts on the topic - Altus Dorian Pavus of the Tevinter Imperial Circle. Will two genius mages working together finally find a cure for the Blight?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think Varric and/or Bull would appreciate the title. It was that or _**Love in the Time of the Blight**_ (which I've now used as the series name). Sorry, not sorry. If you didn't laugh, groan, or roll your eyes I'm not sure you should continue. ;)
> 
> For the moment I've rated this Mature, but it _might_ end up with an Explicit. I haven't reached that in the writing yet, so I'll update if it becomes necessary. 
> 
> I've tried to incorporate canonical backgrounds as possible, with twists to suit my purpose (ie. no Justice and therefore no Chantry explosion). If this was proper Thedas, the storyline would fall a bit before Inquisition starts.
> 
> There are no Darkspawn spreading the Taint here, it's a touch more mundane (ie. more like the bubonic plague)
> 
> Now with [amazing art of Anders](https://kittenmarsh.tumblr.com/post/171974177503/fanart-for-geekelfies-andersdorian-fic-tainted) and his shirt from Chapter 5 thanks to [kittenmarsh](https://kittenmarsh.tumblr.com) on tumblr!  
> 

The florescent lights hummed and flickered. The clinic was never quiet. Anders removed the protective paper covering from the exam bed with a loud **_rip_** that was followed by the crinkling of paper as it was crushed into a wrinkled ball. He contemplated the paper in his hand, thinking how the grooves and ridges made it look like a brain. There were days he was sure some of his patients had even less in their heads – _who breaks a foot trying to chase a nug from the garden?_ He eyed the waste bin across the little room, brow furrowed in contemplation.

“He shoots…” He tossed the paper ball toward the bin. It hit the edge and bounced to the opposite side. Another bounce. He watched intently, eyes narrowed as he waits for the outcome. The paper rolled along the inside edge of the bin before finally dropping to the bottom.

“He scores!”

 _Clap_. _Clap_. _Clap_. He spun, looking sheepish, seeing his assistant standing in the doorway to the little exam room. She grinned widely at him.

“I didn’t realize you played basketball while you were in school. Maybe you should join the Darktown community team. Get out of the clinic once in a while. Meet people.” She gave him an affectionate smile.

Anders snorted. “I did not play. There was never any opportunity… and you know I have no time for frivolous activities. There is too much to do here, Lirene.”

Lirene sighed, shaking her head.

“Speaking of – I got a call with a request for a home visit. Sounds pretty bad. They were hoping you could come as soon as you were done with patients here.” She held out his medical bag. “There are no more patients in the waiting room.”

With a grateful smile, Anders took the bag and squeezed by Lirene. He grabbed his jacket from the waiting room coat rack. Setting the doctor’s bag on a chair, he quickly slipped into the dark blue monstrosity. In the faded velvet coat with feathered shoulders, with his blond hair pulled back in a small messy bun and two-days' worth of stubble on his chin, Anders looked more the washed-out rock star than a physician. He found that worked well for him in the slums of Kirkwall. Here, the residents were distrustful of most Circle-trained healers. Before Anders most Darktown residents relied on what Anders would call alternative medicine: witches, elven herbalists, or snake-oil salesmen cheating them out of their money. It had taken months for him to earn their trust and build up his patient base. Now, his clinic was full to bursting every day of the week. Most days Anders was still seeing patients well past nightfall, and today was no different. He glanced at the wall clock in the waiting room and sighed: _22:48_. _Well, it’s not like you really sleep anyhow, Anders_ , he thought to himself.

“I’ve put the address and some basic directions in the bag. If you get lost, use the map on your phone. I know you hate it, but just do it.” Lirene called after him as he headed out the front door. He waved his free hand in her direction to acknowledge that he heard her.

Darktown was not the type of place to wander alone after dark. While the moniker had not been accurate in decades – there was electricity in Darktown even if most people could not afford it – Kirkwall administration neglected the upkeep of streetlamps and the authorities avoided patrolling the area until specifically ordered to do so.

Being the only true healer, and offering all services for free, meant Anders had the respect of Darktown residents. Not just the honest, hard-working folk but most of the gangs as well. Anders did not ask questions or turn anyone away from his clinic. This afforded him some protection: you hurt the healer, you better watch your back. That’s not to say there hadn’t been incidents in the past. Anders made an attractive target for muggers. While almost imposingly tall, he was rail-thin. Never getting enough to eat or enough rest, he looked like an easy mark. He wasn’t. Anders knew very well how to handle himself. Years spent working as a medic with the Wardens, a non-profit relief organization, had provided Anders will extensive self-defense training and strength belied by his thin appearance. He’d survived war and plague, he could survive Darktown.

Lost in thought he had started walking without checking the address Lirene had stashed in his bag. Snorting derisively at himself, he stopped under a flickering streetlamp. _Did all lights in Darktown flicker?_ He crouched and set the bag across his thighs to free both hands. Unzipping and reaching in, he pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. The outside was a section of invoice for medical supplies, Lirene obviously reusing paper. Every little bit counts when you run a free clinic. He unfolded the note and quickly scanned the address and instructions. Sigh. Of course, he had been going the wrong way. _Well done_.

He stuffed the address into his coat pocket, rezipped the doctor’s bag, and stood. Glancing up and down the street to see if he was being watched – who wants to be that person who was _obviously_ going the wrong way – he started heading back toward the clinic.

Navigating Darktown could be like finding your way through a maze. It was one of the many reasons the police force was almost non-existent. Anders worked his way slowly toward the address, avoiding burnt out cars, tipped over shopping carts and piles of who-knows-what strewn across the cobbled sidewalks. The air was heavy and pungent, leaving a sour taste in his throat with every inhale. Anders was relieved when he finally reached his destination without incident. He pulled the paper from his pocket to double check the address. _Yep. This is it._

It was a typical Darktown apartment complex. Old, crumbling brick. Rusted, metal railings on the front stairs and balconies. A pane of glass on the front door replaced with cardboard and duct tape. Anders eyed the instructions and wandered up the crumbling concrete steps, squeezing past a balding man in a stained, ripped tank top andboxers who was sitting on the lowest step with a beer. He eyed the apartment list and pressed the buzzer for apartment 304. He silently hoped the panel worked. You never knew in Darktown.

Static from the speaker and then a hesitant, female voice, “Hello? Who is it?”

“Doctor Anders. My assistant said someone needed my help at this address.”

The voice is flooded with relief, “Yes! Oh thank the Maker. Come right up.”

With an obnoxious buzz from the speaker, the door unlocked. Anders hurried through and took the stairs two at a time to the third floor. Elevators, when they existed, were rarely in proper working order in Darktown. Easier to just opt for the stairs. While making the climb he pulled his phone out and sent a quick text to Lirene to let her know he had arrived safely.

Stepping onto the third-floor landing, he looked at the nearest apartment numbers to get his bearings. A door opened down the hall to his right and a woman with long chestnut hair stepped out. He vaguely recognized her from the clinic but couldn’t remember her name. He saw so many people. “Doctor Anders?

He nodded, heading in her direction.

“Come in, please.” She stepped back inside, holding the door for him. With one glance, he was able to take in most of the apartment. The front door opened right into the small, open-concept kitchen. It was worn but clean, dishes drying on a rack by the sink. The living room was on the far side of the U-shaped counters and followed the same “worn but clean” trend. While poor, the residents clearly took pride in their home. 

The woman stood next to Anders, visibly frantic. She shifted from one foot to the other and fiddled with the frayed hem of her sweater. Realizing she was not going to speak first, Anders cleared his throat while shucking off his coat.

“What is your name?” He spoke in an even, soft voice which was accompanied by a small smile.

“Bree.” She responded, glancing up from her sweater to look at Anders. _She’s from_ _Ferelden_.

“Honoured to meet you, Bree. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” He hung his coat on a peg near the door. Setting the doctor’s bag on the kitchen counter, he opened it and pulled out a small spiral-bound notepad and pen. Flipping to the first empty page, he started jotting down notes as she spoke.

“It’s my husband, Peter.” Bree returned to her fidgeting as she spoke. “He’d gone outside of Kirkwall in search of work. I thought he was just tired from all the travelling and manual labour… But this morning, I could barely wake him. He has a mighty fever and a rattling cough. I would have brought him to the clinic, but he doesn’t have the strength to make that walk and we don’t have the money for a taxi.” Anders nodded through all of it, making small notes on his pad.

“Thank you, Bree. I think I should see Peter now. Can you take me to him?” She nodded, gesturing down the hall to a curtained doorway. Listening closely, Anders could hear laboured breathing. Sliding the doctor’s bag onto one arm, he reached in for a face mask. He preferred not to use them because they always made patients uncomfortable, and they hid his smile, but some things were not worth the risk. Once it was in place, he pushed aside the curtain and entered a small room.

The bedroom was barely larger than a closet. A two-person bed took up the centre of the room, with one chest of drawers under a small window. There was a table next to the bed with a lamp and a glass of water. In the bed lay a man, probably in his mid-thirties, wrapped tightly in a quilt. His dark hair was sweat-soaked and plastered to his forehead. He appeared to be asleep. Anders shifted the water glass and lamp to make space for his bag. He pulled on a pair of disposable gloves before speaking.

“Peter? It’s Doctor Anders. Bree called me to come take a look at you. She says you aren’t feeling quite yourself.” A small groan and Peter shifted, opening his eyes. He pushed himself up to lean against the headboard and even that little movement seemed to take great effort. Anders frowned behind his mask.

“Hey, Doc. Thanks for coming. I wasn’t feeling up to walking to the clinic.” Each breath was strained and talking seemed to be a chore.

“Better for you to get some rest. I needed the walk today, anyway.” Anders tried to imbue his voice with happiness and calm. “I’m going to examine you. I’ll need to touch you, listen to your lungs, that sort of thing. Is that okay?”

Peter nodded. Anders grabbed his stethoscope from his bag, draping it around his neck before sitting on the edge of the bed. He could feel the heat coming from the man before he even touched him. He gave him a quick physical exam, pressing and tapping and asking if anything hurt. The man’s skin was waxy, and his eyes had a hint of jaundice yellow. Fever and dehydration had cracked his lips. Anders listened to his heart and lungs with the stethoscope, frowning again at what he heard. _Not good_ , he thought.

During the examination, Bree hovered behind Anders, worry evident on her face. When he was done, he pushed up the mask to smile at her. His smiles always comforted his patients. He let the mask fall back into place and leaned to grab a package from his bag, holding it out to her.

“Would you mind making some elfroot tea? It will help bring down the fever and he could really use some fluids.” She snatched the bag from his hand, nodding.

“Of course, doctor.”

When she was gone, Anders pulled off the gloves and tossed them into the bag. Magic made most Darktown residents uncomfortable, so it was easier to find Bree somewhere else to be. They all knew he was a mage, but that didn’t stop the looks of fear when he was openly using magic. _This day and age and the Chantry has still managed to instil a fear of mages in the populace_ , Ander grimaced internally. He stretched his arms, hands hovering over Peter’s torso, palms down.

“I’m going to use my magic now. At most, you will feel some warmth. There should be no discomfort, but I will stop if you ask. Can I proceed?” Peter nodded.

“Okay. Just relax.” Ander closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A soft blue glow covered his hands, slowly increasing in intensity. The light flowed down into Peter’s body, washing over his torso. Anders moved his hands up and down the sick man, stopping over his lungs, his heart, his liver. His brow furrowed in concentration, a small droplet of sweat running down his jaw.

The sickness was everywhere. Anders tried to find a source, but it was eluding him. Even without finding the initial source, he recognized it – _Taint_. _Blight sickness_. He had suspected based on the symptoms. Symptoms well known to him from his time with the Wardens. He had hoped he was wrong. There hadn’t been a case of Blight sickness in Kirkwall in years, even with the influx of Fereldens. He returned his focus to the sick man. He worked to heal the damage to Peter’s lungs, pushing out fluid.

“Cough. Don’t hold back.” He instructed. Peter did as he was told, body convulsing with the effort. He hacked up mucus and blood, catching most with his hands.

With a shuddering breath, Anders slumped. The blue light faded and left the room dark. Bree’s voice drifted through the fog of his exhaustion.

“Doctor Anders? Are you okay?” There was awe, concern and a little fear mixed together in her voice.

He grunted, nodding. “Fine, Bree. Just fine. I am just a little tired.” He rubbed the heel of his hands against his eyes before looking over his shoulder at her. “Do you have the tea?”

She nodded, stepping into the room with a steaming mug. She hovered near the bed until Anders reached up to take it. His hands were shaking, and he put conscious effort into stilling them. He followed her wide-eyed look and finally noticed the mess in Peter’s hands and on his chin from the coughing. Frowning, he directed Bree.

“A bowl of warm water and a cloth, please.” She nodded, rushing from the room. Anders set the tea on the little bedside table, grabbing another pair of disposable gloves and pulling them on with a snap. He reached out and set a hand on Peter’s forehead to check the fever. It was down.

When Bree returned with the requested bowl and cloth, he had her set it next to him on the bed. She was quiet as she watched him wipe away the filth. While he worked, Anders contemplated what to tell the couple. Word of Blight sickness in Darktown would start a panic, one that would spread into the rest of Kirkwall and likely result in Darktown being quarantined. Life was hard enough for Darktown residents without being completely barred from the outside world. When he had finished, he gathered up the bowl and cloth, not handing them back. He decided to tell a version of the truth.

“The illness has invaded most of your body and I am unable to heal it.” He addressed Peter. “It is a blood illness. I have lessened the symptoms and healed the damage it has done to your organs.” He turned his gaze on Bree, who stood stiffly by the bed. Her eyes shimmered with the start of tears. “It can only be transmitted by blood. Watch for sores and wounds. Wash your hands after touching any blood. I have healed any wounds he already had but more will appear. Try to keep him hydrated to prevent his lips and skin from getting dry and splitting. I will leave elfroot for tea and some potions. Brew the tea every four to six hours to help keep the fever down. Use the potions if the coughing gets bad again.”

Ander stood slowly, cradling the bowl of pinkish water to his chest. He wobbled, black circles spotting his vision. He had used too much energy chasing the illness. Bree put out a steadying hand, taking his arm. He nodded his thanks.

“I will also leave some gloves and a mask. Use them if you need to clean up any blood. Just to be safe. And bleach the towels and bedding when you wash them.” He walked slowly toward the kitchen, testing the first few steps to make sure he would not fall flat on his face when the world spun. He poured the grimy water down the drain and filled the sink with soap and scalding water, letting the bowl soak. He stripped the gloves from his hands, followed by the mask, tossing them in the garbage bin under the sink

“Thank you, Doctor.” Bree said from behind him. Her voice was hoarse from holding back tears. He turned and swept her into a tight hug. She sniffled against his chest, returning the embrace for a moment before stepping back.

“If you run out of elfroot or he gets worse, give the clinic a call. Any time of day. The phones get forwarded to my cellphone after hours, so you can always reach me.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze as he stepped around her to retrieve his coat from the hook. She opened the apartment door as he put the coat on, holding out the doctor’s bag she’d grabbed from the bedroom table.

“Have a good night, Bree. Remember to call if you need anything.” Anders smiled as he stepped into the hallway.

“Yes. I will. Thank you again.” She waved as he made his way to the stairwell.

Once he had rounded a corner outside and was no longer in sight of the building, he stopped walking. He turned to stare at the brick wall next to him like it had done something to offend him before muttering.

“Fuck. Fuck. Maker damn it all.”

He pressed his forehead to the cool stone and groaned.

“Now what, Anders? Hm? Genius healer apostate, what are you going to do now?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders gets some rest and does a little digging into who could help him tackle the illness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I was going to wait, but my favourite character shows up in Chapter 2...

Research. That was what he was going to do. Perhaps there had been advances in treatment since his time with the Wardens.

During his weary walk back to the clinic – his apartment was the top floor of the building – he texted Lirene. He thought it unlikely he would get a response before morning but wanted to ensure she had an update.

_[00:18] Just left the apartment. Not good news. Wasting version of Blight sickness. Looks like he contracted the Taint outside Kirkwall. So at least there’s that. We can’t let the news spread. I’ve managed the symptoms for now, but I need more information. I won’t be in the clinic most of tomorrow, I need to use the computers at the library. Manage as best you can with the tonics in the cabinet. Call me if there are any emergencies._

He was surprised when a minute later his phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. Lirene had obviously been waiting to hear from him. He pulled it out and read the message on the lock screen.

_[00:19] Thanks for letting me know. We can manage without you for one day. Now get some rest._

Anders smiled. Lirene was always nagging him to get sleep or eat more – usually with good reason.

_[00:21] I’m just getting back to the clinic. I promise I’ll grab some shut-eye shortly. Good night._

He tucked the phone back in his pocket and fished out his keys. The door to the second floor was off the back alley and Anders had to pick his way through a mass of cardboard boxes to reach it. There was no recycling pick-up in Darktown, they were lucky someone came to collect the trash every two weeks, but there was always use for cardboard, so Anders left all his boxes outside the clinic for residents to take. A habit he regretted as he tripped over a box and sent a rat scurrying into the dark.

“Andraste’s knickerweasles!”

Keys hit the pavement, Anders dropping them when he was startled. He glanced down and sighed when he couldn’t see them. Very little lamp light made it that far down the alley. He glanced to either end of the alley before flicking his wrist and calling to life a small magelight. He waved his hand over the ground, the glowing blue ball following the movement.

“Ah ha! There you are.” As he reached for the keys he noticed the rat eyeing him from under a dumpster. He locked eyes with it as if he were attempting to stare the creature down. He considered the rodent, a soft hum forming in his chest. Rats were known to spread the Taint even outside of a full-blown Blight outbreak. _Something to consider… tomorrow_. He broke the eye contact and scooped up the keys. With one quick thrust and turn, the lock was opened, and Anders was in the stairwell. Glancing back to make sure the rat didn’t get any bright ideas about following, he pulled the door shut.

 _There are way too many stairs_ , he thought as he ascended the metal steps. At the top were two doors. Anders opened the one directly across the stairs and was immediately greeted by a loud _mrow_.

“Pounce!” Anders exclaimed, a huge grin on his face. Keys tossed in a bowl next to the door, he crouched down to scoop up the orange cat rubbing against his ankles. Pounce started purring and pressing the top of his head into Anders' chin. “I missed you too, buddy. Sorry I was gone so long. Let's get you some food.”

The cat chirped like he understood. With another soft headbutt, he wiggled free of Anders' grasp, landing quietly on his paws. Anders chuckled, peeling off his coat and tossing it on a chair as he walked through the loft toward the kitchen, Pounce sauntering and weaving in front of him. He didn’t bother turning on a light, relying on the still-present magelight and the soft yellow glow streaming in from the windows.

The flat was essentially one large room. The kitchen was to the left of the front door and a sitting area near the windows to the right. The foot of a bed could be seen peeking out from behind a folding screen at the far end. The one thing that could be said about Anders' apartment was that it looked lived in. For a man who worked at least 14 hours a day he still managed to leave a mess. Or perhaps that was precisely why there was a mess. Every flat surface had something on it. The kitchen counters were a mix of dishes (clean and dirty), small appliances, and dry goods. The back of the sofa was draped with rumbled up throw blankets. The coffee table was littered with papers and books. Even the floor was not safe, being home to dozens of small cat toys.

One of these toys, a small pink nug, had the misfortune of getting under Anders' foot. He stumbled, trying to quickly take his weight off the object fearing he had stepped on Pounce’s tail. Looking down and seeing the toy, Anders snorted in disgust. He kicked the object, sending it sliding across the worn wood floor. Pounce was close behind, gleefully giving chase.

“You really need to learn to pick up after yourself.” Anders eyed the cat, who had the toy hanging from his jaws. Pounce tilted his head, glancing around before turning his eyes back to Anders with a _mrrt_ as if to say, _Hypocrite_.

“Fair. Fair. I’m a bad role model.” Anders chuckled, pulling a bag of cat kibble from a cupboard. Pounce hopped up on the counter, spinning and purring as Anders poured the food into a chipped porcelain dish on the floor.

“There you go, bud. Eat up.” He scratched at the base of the cat’s tail, earning a louder purr before Pounce leapt down to eat. “And perhaps lay off the rats for the moment, yeah?” Taint was not a human-specific illness and the thought of his cat becoming ill made Anders' throat tighten up.

He contemplated finding food himself, having not had more than coffee since breakfast, but fatigue was overtaking him. With a yawn, he headed to the bed at the back of the room. Kicking off his shoes, he flopped onto the bed fully clothed and was asleep moments after his head hit the thin pillow. As he drifted off, the magelight winked out.

Sleep was rarely a pleasurable thing for Anders. Since his time with the Wardens, most nights were plagued by nightmares. It was one of the reasons he worked himself to exhaustion – passing out was the only guarantee of true sleep. He tossed and turned. He gritted his teeth. He let out small whimpers and grunts.

He woke with a startled yelp, sitting up so fast he clonked his head on the wooden headboard. “Ow!” A hand shot up to hold the already forming lump. Eyes darted around the dark alcove, searching for the threat. After a few deep breathes, Anders let out a shuddering sigh and slumped back. At that moment, Pounce jumped onto the bed, startling him into knocking his head a second time.

“Ugh. Come on. Pounce!” He huffed, exasperated.

“Meow?” The cat responded, eyeing Anders as if checking to make sure he was okay. He nudged his head on the underside of Anders’ elbow.

He scooped the cat onto his lap, stroking the soft fur. The mindless movement and the cat’s soft purrs soothed his nerves. Anders tried to recall the nightmare that woke him, but the details were already fading. That was normally how it went. As the fear seeped away, Anders gave the area a calmer once over. A pale, grey light was peaking around the privacy screen heralding dawn. He calculated when he got in and when sunrise currently was. _Five hours. Not bad._ He pulled the cat into a hug, realizing at that moment that he was no longer wearing his shirt. He plopped the cat on the floor, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, looking for the t-shirt. _Ah. There._ He saw it stuck under the spare pillow. He must have stripped it off when he started sweating and thrashing. Also, not an unknown occurrence.

“Come on, mister. I need some coffee.” He grabbed the shirt, slipped it back on and wandered into the kitchen, Pounce close on his heels. There was enough light spilling through the windows that Anders once again neglected the apartment’s lights. He picked up the kettle on the stove and wiggled it. Water sloshed against the sides. _That should be enough_. He set the kettle back down and flicked on the gas burner. Gas was cheaper than electricity in Darktown and was still available during the rolling blackouts that occurred every summer. He knew he was lucky to have it.

While the water came to a boil, Anders grabbed the press pot from the counter. He frowned. It still had grounds in it from the day before. Not his fault he was needed in the clinic before he could clean it. He set about cleaning and prepping for this morning’s coffee. Pounce sat on the opposite counter watching the process, making Anders feel slightly judged.

“You could learn to wash the dishes, you know. You do live here for free. It would be nice if you contributed with more than a few dead mice.”

“Mrrup.” Pounce stood, turning his back to Anders, and started casually licking a paw.

“I will take that as “You have a point, Anders. I’ll consider your proposal.”” He was pretty sure he saw the cat huff at that. “Maybe Lirene is right – I should get out more. I’m becoming the crazy man who talks to his cat.” He paused and snorted. “And now I’m simply talking to myself. Well done, Anders. Crazy cat man it is indeed.” He grabbed a clean mug from the drying rack and spooned two servings of sugar into the bottom.  As he finished, the kettle let out a high-pitched whistle. The noise sent Pounce straight into the air and then scrambling away to hide under the sofa.

“Coward.” Anders grinned, grabbing the kettle from the burner and turning off the flame. He poured water onto the coffee in the bottom of the pot, then set the kettle back on a cool burner. His stomach rumbled, a sound like a small earthquake. _Food it is_.

As the coffee brewed, he opened his fridge and examined the contents. All seven of them. He grabbed the milk since he needed it for the coffee. He glanced at the expiry date and frowned. _A week ago?_ He opened the bottle and gave a hesitant sniff.

“Still smells fine. I’ll chance it.” He set it on the counter by his mug. Returning to the remaining six items in his fridge, he tried to figure out what he could make with one egg, ketchup, mustard, pickles, left-over Fereldan lamb and pea stew (a gift from a patient… if you could call being handed Fereldan cuisine a gift), and a block of blue cheese (whether the cheese was originally blue could be up for some debate).

Feeling a little defeated, Anders grabbed the egg and ketchup. Balancing the egg on the counter, he flicked the stove back on and set a small pan on the burner. While the pan came to up to temperature, he grabbed two slices of bread from the bread box. He eyed these carefully for mould. Nothing. _Thank the Maker for small favours_.

Once the egg and ketchup sandwich was complete and coffee poured, he adjourned to the sofa. As he passed the chair covered in his jacket, he dug out his phone, deftly balancing his plate on the coffee mug to free a hand. No messages. That was a good sign. He had been so exhausted he had forgotten to bring the phone to bed. He had also failed to plug it in and it was hovering around 45% battery power. That certainly would not do.

Setting his breakfast on the stained coffee table, he dug under the sofa for the charger. Pounce, ever helpful, tried to swipe it from his hands the moment he found it. Anders growled playfully at him, winning the small battle. Once charging, he flicked open the phone’s browser, doing a quick search for experts on the Taint or Blight sickness. The library wouldn’t be open yet, but that didn’t mean the research had to wait.

With his phone in one hand and an egg sandwich in the other, Anders settled into the threadbare cushions. He thumbed slowly through the results, humming at a couple potential leads. Then he saw the headline:

**Magister Gereon Alexius and Altus Dorian Pavus Headline Second Annual Ferelden Thaumaturgy Conference with Talk on Magic Properties of the Taint.**

Anders paused, mid-chew. He set the remnants of the sandwich back on the plate, wiping crumbs and grease on his pants. He clicked the link. It was a short piece outlining the two men’s qualifications and areas of research, plus the time and day of the presentation. The presentation which was six months past. _Well, so much for that_. Still, it gave him somewhere specific to start.

Eyes still on his phone screen, he reached toward the table for his sandwich. His fingers brushed the cold surface of the plate. He frowned, looking over the top of his phone to discover the plate was devoid of food.

“Pounce.” Anders sighed, a note of warning in his voice. He set the phone down next to the mug of coffee and leaned forward to peer under the sofa. Sure enough, there was the cat with a mouth full of egg. “Really, Pounce? How do you think Lirene is going to feel when I explain I couldn’t finish my breakfast because the cat stole it?”   

Pounced blinked at Anders, chewing slowly. He backed deeper under the furniture, pulling the remaining slice of egg with him.

“Fine, thief. Have it your way. But when I starve to death, there will be no one left to look out for you. Just remember that.” He scooped up the coffee and his phone and went back to scrolling the internet. Unable to access any of Alexius’ or Pavus’ academic works from home – the Imperium kept them behind a paywall, of course – he focused instead on looking up the two researchers. Both were, by all reports, extremely talented mages. Healing was not either man’s speciality, which made their choice of research an odd one in Anders’ mind. That is until he came across an older headline from Tevinter.

 **Alexius Family Ravaged by Blight**.

_Ah. So, it is personal._

The article explained how tragedy had struck. Alexius’ wife had passed quickly from the Taint and his mathematical-genius son left suffering from wasting Blight sickness. Alexius had pulled back from public life, stepped down as head of his department, and taken a research sabbatical. His post-graduate assistant Dorian Pavus went with him.

Sipping lukewarm coffee, Anders clicked through the Imperium Circle’s research profiles. Alexius’ picture showed the epitome of Tevinter upper-class poise. He had an aquiline nose and strong jaw. He wore crimson formal mage robes in the photo and held an ornate staff. Anders rolled his eyes. _Who even uses a staff in this day and age?_ He might have been handsome if it wasn’t all so… Tevinter.

A line under the photo read: _Esteemed faculty member and researcher Magister Gereon Alexius retires after twenty years._ The update was dated shortly after the conference in Ferelden.

“Great. So much for that lead.” Anders clicked back to the profile list and scrolled down to Pavus’ entry. He arched a brow at the little icon, tapping to bring up the full profile. He stared.

The man was definitely Tevene, with strong features, deeply tanned skin, glittering grey eyes and black hair. There would be no denying his heritage. He was also _gorgeous_.  While Alexius’ image screamed _Tevinter Magister_ , Pavus’ was softer, playful, more modern. He was so well-groomed the image could have been pulled from a magazine – oiled moustache, kohl-lined eyes, hair styled into a pompadour. He wore a patterned, purple waistcoat over a pristine white dress shirt, the only hint of appealing to Tevinter tradition the twisting snake subtly included in the pattern on the vest.

Anders inhaled deeply, having momentarily forgotten to breathe. _This is one of the experts on the Taint? Maker’s breath._ He enlarged the image, taking in every detail. Not a blemish to be found. _Obviously, he is so vain he had his image photoshopped. No one is this perfect._

At that moment, his phone buzzed. A message notification covered the top part of the screen. Lirene. Anders tapped it and pulled up the full message.

_[08:32] You better eat. And do NOT pop into the clinic on your way to the library. We’re managing just fine and you know you’ll never leave._

He laughed. She was not wrong. Seeing the time on the phone, he set it down on the table to finish charging and gathered up his dishes. These he added to the small pile in the sink before heading to the bathroom off the bedroom alcove.

The room was tiny. A clawed tub took up the entire back wall with a shower curtain wrapped around it, suspended from the ceiling. The sink was a small pedestal, with a toothbrush and toothpaste balanced precariously on the small ledges either side of the tap. Anders grabbed these with one hand, turning the water on in the tub.

A quick shower and some fresh clothes had Anders feeling ready to tackle the library. Not planning to see patients, he opted for casual attire – dark jeans, black boots, white Henley… and his ridiculous coat. With a small wave at Pounce, who was enjoying a patch of sun near the large windows, he headed out.

The nearest library was in Lowtown but only the one in Hightown had the access Anders required. He contemplated hopping on public transit, but he would either be waiting an hour for a bus to come through Darktown or need to walk to Lowtown. It was a lovely day for a walk anyhow.

Anders’ brain worked as he walked. He catalogued what he knew so far, making note of any questions he needed answered. He found he was having trouble focusing, though, as the image of smirking man with glittering grey eyes entered his thoughts.  

“Really, Anders? You have lives to save and you’re pinning over the pretty face of someone you haven’t even met!” A snort of disgust.

The Hightown library came into view and Anders was grateful, forcing his thoughts away from full lips and twinkling eyes. The library assistant at the front desk gave him a withering look but did not bar him from entering. Officially the library was open to all residents of Kirkwall. Unofficially, they made the life of non-Hightown residents uncomfortable enough that most didn’t visit. Most establishments in Hightown were like that.

Books lined the walls of the main floor, but most of the space was taken up by rows of computers. This early in the day, the library was practically empty. This suited Anders. He sat in front of the first computer he passed and immediately began his search in earnest. He pulled out his phone to make notes as he read articles and conference proceedings. Most of the information was theoretical which, while fascinating, was not going to help his immediate predicament. He pulled up the proceedings from the Second Annual Ferelden Thaumaturgy Conference, reading the Alexius and Pavus presentation. They discussed the connection between magic, the Warden’s Calling and the Warden method of managing the Taint. This was information Anders was more than familiar with. What was new was the revelation that they had managed to extend the life of a patient with Blight sickness using time magic. That was promising.

The proceedings only provided an overview of the research and Anders was unable to find a published article with more details. So many roadblocks. Running out of ideas, he navigated back to Pavus’ research profile and searched for an email. At least that was one thing he could find. Leaning back in the hard library chair, he composed, what he hoped, was a professional email seeking more information on Pavus’ research.

Now if only he had a professional email address.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the only new character was Ser Pounce-a-lot. Yes, he's my favourite. I want to just write little fics of Anders and Pounce: The True Love Story.
> 
> Now I really need to get Chapter 3 done. Everyone's favourite handsome, sassy mage finally makes a real appearance next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets a curious email and a job proposition.

The sun streamed through the sheer curtains, filling the room with a soft warm glow. The faint murmur of voices and the enticing aroma of freshly baked pastries, warmed butter and almonds, drifted in from under the door. Dorian lingered on the edge of sleep, savouring the pleasant sensations before his brain could take over and ruin everything.

A buzzing from the nightstand interrupted the moment. Rolling over with a groan, he snatched up the cellphone. Cracking one eye open, he peered at the notification. _Felix_. Fully awake, he detached the charging cord and flopped back on the small mountain of pillows. He was momentarily annoyed at being disturbed until he looked at the time on his phone. _10:30_.

Obviously, the wine had done wonders for lulling him into an undisturbed, albeit perhaps not refreshing, sleep. He read through a couple of missed text messages from Felix and Mae. The most recent message from Felix was expressing concern. That’s what Dorian got for leaving his phone in the room the previous night when he went out to the local pub. There were so few things to do in Redcliffe after dark that he often found himself there. The wine was drinkable. Nothing compared to the establishments in Minrathous, but what was one to expect from a backwater Ferelden city? By the time he had stumbled back to his room, after having indulged a bit too much if he was being honest, he had simply collapsed on the bed.

He spent a few minutes replying to his friends and reassuring Felix that he was perfectly fine. He asked after Mae’s attempts to convince the Magisterium to remove the Venatori as an official political party and inquired into the state of Felix’s health. Friends placated, Dorian decided to check his emails, not that he received many these days.

A brow shot up as he read the sender of his one, just one, email.

_MeowdicalMage@freemarchmail.com? What kind of absurd email address is that?_

He fully expected it to be spam until he saw the subject line: Magical Treatment of Blight Sickness.

As quickly as it had shot up the brow furrowed. He clicked on the message. Seeing it was a forward from his Circle email address, he was momentarily amazed they were still allowing emails to reach him. He scrolled languidly through the message:

 

_Dear Altus Pavus,_

_My research into potential treatments for wasting Blight sickness led me to the research you and your supervisor Magister Alexius were conducting at Tevinter Imperial Circle. The information in your presentation at the Second Annual Ferelden Thaumaturgy Conference seemed very promising, however, I am unable to find any further publications on the topic._

_If you have a pre-publication copy of the full research, I would very much appreciate the opportunity to read it. I would also appreciate any suggestions you have on other readings, as it is a very narrow field and much of the work has not be digitized or is not accessible from the Kirkwall public library system._

_This is a rather urgent matter and I would be indebted to you for any assistance you can provide._

_Thank you so very much._

_Regards,_

_Anders_ _Rache_

Dorian pursed his lips, reading the email a second time.

 _Well, that was unexpected_.

He toyed with the end of his moustache, twisting it around his finger. He considered simply ignoring the request. Joining Alexius in his research into Blight sickness all but ruined Dorian’s budding career at the Imperial Circle and they had little to show for it. Though he had fared better than Alexius, who not only lost his career and reputation but no small part of his sanity as well. If it wasn’t for Felix, Dorian would have left long before he had.

Thinking they had little to show for the research was, perhaps, unkind. They had Felix to show for it and wasn’t that the whole point? Felix had lived longer than any other person struck with Blight sickness and was still managing, albeit not as well as Dorian would have liked. 

“Kirkwall public library?” He quirked a brow at his phone. The whole thing seemed preposterous. Who does that kind of research from a public library? And a Free Marches public library at that. _I doubt this Anders would even understand the research if I sent it to him_.

The email sounded desperate, which set off alarm bells. Desperate people do desperate things, as Alexius had proven when he turned to the Venatori to gain further funding for his research. A move that ultimately ruined him and left Dorian stranded in Ferelden. Perhaps Dorian could prevent this man from doing something equally ill-advised.

The Maker was clearly having fun at his expense, poking at the wound that was Alexius. Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. He was a touch too hungover for this. Deciding the matter was too important to tackle on an empty stomach, he set his phone back on the bedside table. _A shower and coffee will provide some clarity_.

For a Ferelden bed and breakfast, the room and ensuite were nearly up to Dorian’s standards. Sure, it wasn’t Minrathous, but the bed was soft, the towels plush and the wine at dinner was surprisingly passable. The owners had recently upgraded the bathroom and installed a waterfall showerhead which was Dorian’s favourite feature. He spent the first half of his shower standing motionless under the stream of hot water, letting it loosen the knot in his neck and wash away the grit of alcohol-induced sleep.

After showering, he began his morning ritual of preparing himself for the world. He shaved the shadow of hair along his jaw and neck. Hair was combed and styled, as was his moustache. This was followed by lining each eye with kohl and finished with a fine misting of cologne. He eyed the bottle and frowned. _I’m going to have to ask Mae to ship me another bottle from Tevinter_.

Next, clothing. He had far too few choices, having left Tevinter with only a carry-on bag. He eyed his options in the small closet. Flicking through a couple t-shirts and button-ups, he selected a blue silk dress shirt which he paired with straight-legged black jeans. He preened before the bathroom mirror, smoothing wrinkles from his button-up and contemplating the fit of his jeans. Being stuck in a mudhole like Redcliffe was no excuse to neglect proper grooming and fashion.

The bed and breakfast had stopped serving breakfast an hour before Dorian arrived in the dining room. He was rarely up and put together in time to dine with the other guests – not that he had any desire to converse with the honeymooning couple from Lothering or the businessman from Nevarra. Silent contemplation suited him better. He discovered a pot of coffee and some of the almond pastries still on the sideboard. The coffee was cold, but that was easily fixed with a cradling hand and a spell.

With a steaming mug of black coffee and a couple sweet pastries, Dorian settled into a chair at the table. He draped one leg over the arm, lounging comfortably as he nibbled at his breakfast.

As he was eating, his phone went off. Dorian looked at the caller ID: Maevaris Tilani. He answered quickly. A call from Mae was a rare thing, normally she opted for sarcastic or suggestive text messages.

“Mae.” He said with a smile. “Everything alright?”

“Dorian! Everything is fine. Perfectly fine. Better even– I have a proposition for you.”

“Now Mae, I know Tevinter is cold and dreary without my magnificence to brighten your days, but I don’t think a marriage would really work out between us.”

Dorian heard Mae snort at the other end of the line. “Not _that_ kind of proposition. You couldn’t handle me, Pavus.” She said with exasperation.  “I have a potential job for you. Get you out of Redcliffe.”

“Pardon? Did you say _job_? Did you find some nobleman with a mage for a son who needs some tutoring? Perhaps a vintner who would benefit greatly from my distinguished palate?”

“Dorian, darling, do shut up and let me speak.”

Dorian huffed but did as requested.

“Do you remember me mentioning Varric Tethras?”

“Thorold’s cousin? The _writer_ and _businessman_?” He stressed the words in a way that indicated his low view of Varric’s supposed vocations. “What of him?”

Mae apparently chose to take the high road and ignored Dorian’s tone. “Well, I was speaking with him yesterday and he mentioned collecting old tomes and artifacts for a client. Many them are ancient Tevene in origin. Or should be. He’s having trouble authenticating.”

“And that’s where I come in, I presume? You know that is not my area of expertise, Mae.”

“Of course, of course. But even a cursory knowledge would be better than what he’s currently working with. Plus, he’ll put you up at his estate in Kirkwall. No more rustic inn for you. And Kirkwall is more metropolitan and significantly closer to Tevinter, than Redcliffe. You might even convince me to visit.” She paused, clearly waiting for a reply.

Dorian sipped his coffee, making her wait, before sighing. “I don’t really get to say no, do I?”

“The flight is booked for two days from now. You have a layover in Denerim, but it’s only a few hours. Varric will have someone fetch you from the airport when you get in.”

“You booked a flight before you _spoke_ to me?”

“Of course, I booked it before speaking with you! I didn’t want to wake you, and you know how expensive last-minute flights are. I knew you wouldn’t be saying no, anyhow. Dorian, just say _thank you_. I am getting you out of Ferelden”

 _Right. Expenses._ “Speaking of….” Dorian hated talking about money. As the heir to the Pavus fortune, money had never been an issue. That was until his father disowned him and he lost his position at the Imperial Circle.

“Not to worry. Varric is covering relocation costs.” He could hear the amusement in her voice.

“In that case, I should let my hosts know I will be checking out.” He tried not to let relief trickle into his voice.

“You do that. I just forwarded you the flight details.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Mae. I know you didn’t have to do this.”

Mae scoffed. “I couldn’t let the illustrious Dorian Pavus waste away in the land of wet dog smell. “

“Quite right. Every minute I am here, the world is poorer for it… oh, and speaking of smells – I don’t suppose I could impose on your hospitality once more and ask you to send a bottle of Illicio cologne to Varric’s? I am running low and I just don’t see me finding some in Kirkwall.”

“Oh, that could be a new export for me… I bet the residents of Hightown would pay well for imported Tevinter perfumes…”

Dorian cleared his throat, recognizing Maevaris was about to go on a tangent. “I should probably get going, Mae. The long-distance charges are killer.”

“Sorry. Right. Yes, I’ll send that off to you. Text me if you need anything. And let me know when you land safely in Kirkwall.”

“I will. Goodbye, Mae.”

“Cheers, Pavus darling.”

After he’d hung up, Dorian continued to stare at his phone. Kirkwall was apparently the theme of the day. He couldn’t help but wonder at the timing. Though choosing to gallivant around a city with a probable Blight outbreak might not be the sanest thing he had ever done, he couldn’t afford to turn down Mae’s proposition. His mind went back to the morning’s email. Well, if he was going to willingly enter a plague-infested city-state, he might as well help prevent it from spreading. Self-preservation and all. The first step would be responding to the email.

Dorian decided he needed more information on this Anders before he formulated his reply. A name and a city were not much to go on. Luckily Dorian’s talents extended beyond thaumaturgy and fashion. Finishing the last bite of pastry, he cleaned crumbs of pastry from his fingers with a linen napkin before unfolding from the chair. He refilled his coffee, taking the mug back to his room to do some digging around on the internet.

Apparently, Anders was not a common Free Marches name. _Thank the Maker_.

He scrolled through the meager search results, frowning. A couple news articles from a Kirkwall paper about the Darktown clinic. Fluff pieces, really, about the doctor giving his time to the less fortunate. They offered Dorian some insight into the man. He was Ferelden Circle trained, though compared to a Tevinter Circle graduate that was barely better than not being trained at all. He was a gifted doctor. He had severed ties with the Circle and joined the Wardens for a time, aiding during Ferelden’s last plague outbreak. _Apostate_. _Interesting. That explains the public library._

Realizing it was possible Anders had the mental capacity to appreciate Dorian’s work, at least some of it, he decided on a reply.

_From: pavus.d@tevmail.co.ti_

_To: MeowdicalMage@freemarchmail.com_

_Subject: Re: Magical Treatment of Blight Sickness_

_Dear Sir,_

_It is with great regret that I must say I have no article which I can provide. Shortly after the conference my work with Magister Alexius was halted and my association with the Tevinter Imperial Circle was terminated._

_Like yourself, I find myself without proper Circle connections (I am sorry, I looked you up before replying). I am currently in Redcliffe, Ferelden with no access to any work stored at the Circle. I can, however, provide some of the raw data and analyses that were done in preparing for the presentation and have attached these to the email. I have also attached copies of some articles we referred to during the conference. These are all I had on my computer when I left Tevinter._

_If, as I suspect, the impetus for your research is a case of Blight sickness, I caution you to not get your hopes up. We were unsuccessful in our attempts to cure the illness. We only managed to delay the inevitable._

_Our work involved specialized magic, which I do not believe to be common outside Tevinter. This is not an area I feel comfortable sharing techniques on currently, I’m afraid._

_If you require more information, please don’t hesitate to contact me. I am happy to provide any assistance I can. Contact me at this address, as my TIC email may be deactivated at any point._

_Best of luck,_

_Dorian_

_PS. I will be in Kirkwall in a couple of days and am sure I can find the time to have a discussion if you have more questions._

Satisfied, he hit send and shut the laptop. _Time to pack and get out of Ferelden._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders' email address makes me ridiculously happy. I think I need it. 
> 
> My lovely editor pointed out that Anders signing off without a surname didn't sound terribly professional. I debated how to handle this and figured giving him something would probably fit a bit better... so since I'm excluding Justice/Vengeance, I opted for the German word for _revenge_ as his last name as a nod. 
> 
> Soon. Soon the boys will be together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian arrives in Kirkwall and quickly meets half the Kirkwall gang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter because I wanted to do the boys finally meeting from Anders' POV which means they don't actually meet until next chapter. Why did I do this as switching POVs? I'm sorry. I really am. But it's too late now. 
> 
> Tiny, tiny cameo at the beginning. 
> 
> Way more dialogue than previous chapters because people are actually interacting now. Woo! >.>

The connecting flight out of Denerim was delayed. Dorian was hardly surprised when the announcement came over the public-address system. Nothing worked properly in Ferelden. At least Mae had booked him a first-class ticket, which allowed Dorian to spend the now four-hour layover in the lounge, flirting with the handsome Antivan elf behind the bar. One thing he would say for Ferelden: it was significantly more accepting of affairs between people of the same gender. Dorian was still trying to overcome a conditioned reflex to hide and deflect, a protection mechanism he had learned quickly in Tevinter. The charming elf made it easy to forget and just enjoy some harmless flirtatious banter.

He was disappointed when his flight number was called. He had just been toying with the idea of finding somewhere secluded and seeing if the bartender was more than just talk. _Ah well. There must be a pretty face or two in Kirkwall too._  

Gathering up his carry-on, he gave the elf his best smile and made his goodbye before heading to the terminal. He sent Varric and Mae a quick text to let them know he was finally boarding, hoping Varric’s driver hadn’t been waiting at the airport the whole time.

Unlike the flight from Redcliffe, the flight to Kirkwall was long enough to warrant the meal and wine service of first class. He was quite pleased to discover they were serving a lovely Orlesian dish and not a Fereldan meal. He’d had more than enough turnips to last a lifetime in the time he was in Redcliffe. A pity the airline hadn’t felt compelled to offer a more palatable wine. He was all for supporting local business, but Ferelden would never be known for their wine.

Dorian arrived at Kirkwall International Airport happily sated and warm from the wine – Ferelden or not, he wasn’t about to turn down free wine. Having only a carry-on bag, he made short work of disembarking and getting through customs. _One joy of having no possessions_ , he thought as he handed his paperwork to the customs agent.

Twenty minutes after landing, and seven hours after taking off from Redcliffe, Dorian wandered out of the _Arrivals_ gate in search of his ride. He glanced around, wondering how he was supposed to find his driver, then started to laugh.

Like in one of the romantic comedies Felix loved, the driver was standing just outside the gate with a piece of cardboard with _Dorian Pavus_ hastily scrawled across it, but she looked nothing like the drivers in the movies. Where Dorian had expected some anonymous Free Marcher in a no-brand suit, the woman holding the sign was obviously Rivaini with dark skin and raven black hair worn down over her shoulders. It wasn't her ethnicity that clashed with the movie cliché. No. It was her outfit. The only world in which her manner of dress would be considered professional was if she belonged to the oldest profession in Thedas. A white dress was so thin you could make out the colour of her skin through the fabric and a plunging neckline cut to show off more than just her jewellery.

Quelling his laugh, Dorian wondered what kind of business Varric was _actually_ running. He picked his way through the crowd toward the waiting woman. She spotted him as he drew near and grinned.  Clearly, she’d been briefed on his appearance. She lowered the sign, resting it on a hitched hip. 

“Hello.” She drew the word out into a purr, looking him over as if she was contemplating which sweet to buy from the bakery.

The edge of Dorian’s moustache twitched as he held out his hand. “Dorian of House Pavus.” He bent in a slight bow as he took her hand.

The woman hummed low in her throat. “Quite…” She rubbed her thumb on the pulse point of Dorian’s wrist. “I’m Isabela.”

“A pleasure.” He drawled, offering a cold smile as he withdrew his hand from Isabela’s.

Isabela eyed him for a moment longer, running her freed hand over her neck and into her hair before giving a disappointed sigh. “Oh.” She pouted. Actually pouted. “You fight for the other party, don’t you?”

Caught completely off-guard, Dorian blinked.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Only play within your Circle?” He kept staring wide-eyed, so she continued, waggling her eyebrows as she spoke, “Devotee of the staff?” She grinned, no judgement in her voice as if this was a perfectly acceptable conversation to be having in a busy airport with someone you’ve just met.

Having grown up in Tevinter high society, Dorian was a master at schooling his emotions and following the flow of a conversation in polite society, but Isabela was obviously unfamiliar with the rules of polite society and as such Dorian had to wait for his brain to catch up. He cleared his throat, smoothing a hand over his moustache.

“I… yes?” All ability to be his normal, eloquent, charming self momentarily gone. Brain finally catching up, he flashed a charming smile. “Much to my father’s disappointment, I do, in fact, prefer the company of men. Though that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a charming, beautiful woman.”

She snorted a decidedly unladylike noise. She dragged her gaze up and down his body once more and sighed, “Such a pity. Getting you settled isn’t going to be nearly as much fun as I thought. Well, come on then. Let’s get you to Varric’s. Traffic through Lowtown can be a bitch this time of day and I’m supposed to get you to the Hanged Man by eight.”

“The…what?” Dorian allowed himself to be guided through the airport, Isabela’s arm hooked around his.

“The Hanged Man. It’s a pub in Lowtown. Varric has offices above it,” she leaned in to murmur conspiratorially, “though he does most of his work from a booth by the bar. “

“Ah. Right then.” As he was led to a waiting black town car, Dorian started to wonder what exactly Mae had gotten him into.

By modern Tevinter standards, Varric’s estate was modest. Hightown didn’t allow for the sprawling gardens and artificial lakes popular with Tevinter’s elite. Instead, old stone mansions clustered close to each other, with every inch of the plateau that made up Hightown covered in buildings, cobbled pathways, and small gardens. Dorian smiled, amazed that the old Tevinter architecture had withstood the strains of time. It made him feel more at home in Kirkwall and homesick at the same time.

Isabela gave Dorian a cursory tour of the place as she ushered him to the guest room. “This used to be Varric’s brother’s estate. When he died, it went to Varric. To be honest with you, he doesn’t really like the place.”

Dorian wondered if the woman was capable of being anything but honest, given the open conversation during the trip through Kirkwall. He glanced away from a large portrait hanging in the hallway, one he assumed was a Tethras ancestor, quirking a brow at her. “Oh? And why is that?”

“It reminds him of family obligations he’d rather not have. It’s why you’ll almost always find him in Lowtown at the Hanged Man. He was working out of there before his brother passed and he’s happy continuing on as if nothing ever happened.” She shrugged. “So, you’ll find this place pretty quiet.”

Avoiding family obligations was something Dorian was more than familiar with. Perhaps he just might get along with his new employer.

“Well, here we are.” Isabela pushed open a heavy wood door and waved him through. “Your rooms. I’d offer to help make you comfortable…” Isabela grinned at him, sliding her arm up the door jam and jutting out her hip. “But, that would be a frustrating and fruitless endeavour. Why are all the pretty ones gay?”  She pouted again and gave him a wink. “There’s about an hour or so before we need to head back into Lowtown, so feel free to freshen up. I’ll be down in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

The room was simple, but everything was high quality. It had that modern austere feel to it, everything black metal with white accents. Not quite his taste, but it would suit. Dorian looked around and let out a happy sigh. So much better than a Fereldan bed and breakfast.

He set his luggage on the bed and began unpacking, hanging his meagre clothing collection in the closet. Eyeing the time, he decided he had enough time to take a quick shower and change before heading out, as long as he didn’t get his hair wet.

 

* * *

 

The Hanged Man was a hole in the wall. Dorian eyed the faded sign and graffitied walls dubiously. Even having visited some of Minrathous’ less savoury establishments, the Hanged Man was, once again, making him question his decision to come to Kirkwall.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, sweetling.” Isabela brushed passed him and wandered inside, not waiting to see if he was following. A stale, sour smell wafted out the open door. Dorian wrinkled his nose and took a deep breath before stepping inside.

The Hanged Man had more shadows than light, making it hard to get a good look at the place. Dorian thought that might be for the best when his foot momentarily stuck to a spot on the floor. While he contemplated reneging on the deal and fleeing back to Ferelden, Isabela made her way to a U-shaped booth near the back, slipping in and wrapping her arms around a lithe elf woman. “Hello, kitten.” She said and kissed the elf’s cheek.

“Hi, Issie! I’m so happy you’re here. Varric was just telling this story about a dwarven merchant who specializes in…” the elf's voice dropped, and Dorian could barely make out the words as he reached the edge of the worn table. “…erotic memorabilia.”

Isabela reached around the elf who was already snuggling into her side to swipe a hand at the dwarf pressed into the corner of the booth. “Varric! You know better than to tell those sorts of tales when I’m not around. You’re going to put thoughts into Merrill’s head and there will be no one around to help her make them into reality.”

“Hey now. You’re the one whose late, Rivaini. And Hawke started it.” Varric raised his hands in supplication, grinning back at Isabela.

“Leave it to the dwarf to blame a man who isn’t around to defend himself…”

“That’s just low. You know this is exactly the type of conversation Hawke would start.”

“Of course,” Isabela sighed in mock exasperation. “Can’t trust that man to behave for five minutes.”

“Because you are so well known for your tact.” Varric countered.

The friendly banter gave Dorian the opportunity to study his new employer. Like everything he’d encountered so far in Kirkwall, Varric was not what he would have expected. The dwarf was completely clean shaven. That was becoming more common outside Orzammar but it still went against centuries of tradition.  He wore an ostentatious red and gold shirt with a few too many buttons undone, showing off a bird’s nest of blond chest hair. For the second time that day, Dorian wondered what type of business the dwarf actually ran.

“Isabela,” The elf spoke in a soft voice, staring at Dorian with huge green eyes. “Who is your friend? He’s pretty.”

Isabela snickered and hugged the elf closer. “That he is, kitten. Dorian, this is Merrill. Merrill, this is Dorian. He’s Varric’s new Tevinter.”

Dorian sketched an exaggerated bow. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous, at your service.” He smiled.

She smiled back, giggling for a moment before turning serious and looking at Varric. “New Tevinter? What happened to Fenris?”

“Nothing, Daisy. Dorian just has some skills Fenris doesn’t.” Varric slid out from behind the table, “And we probably shouldn’t mention our new friend to Broody just yet.” He held a hand out to Dorian, shaking vigorously when he took it. “Varric Tethras, pleasure to meet you. Mae’s told me quite a bit about you.”

“Only good things, I’m sure.” Dorian extricated his hand as soon as propriety allowed, rubbing his abused joints. “I am afraid she has not been as free with information about you. Though she’s made sure I am acquainted with your… books.” Dorian tried to keep his tone level and not let his distaste for, what he considered, Varric’s ridiculous stories trickle through.

“Has she? Wonder what her favourite is. I’ll have to ask her the next time we speak. I didn’t know she was a fan. I’m surprised you can even get them in Tevinter.” Varric settled himself back into the booth, gesturing Dorian to join him. “I don’t know what Isabela told you, but tonight is just going to be casual. Business can wait until tomorrow. I thought it might be nice for you to get to know some people in Kirkwall and just relax after your trip. Do you play Wicked Grace?”

 _A grimy bar in Lowtown would not be my first choice for a relaxing evening,_ Dorian thought while smiling at Varric. “I do. Though I’m more familiar with Tevinter rules.”

Varric laughed. “Of course, you are. I’m afraid we play by the common rules. They’re a bit less… adversarial.” 

“You Southerners just don’t understand how to have fun.” Dorian sniffed.

“We just like our fun with a little less bloodshed.”

“My point exactly.”

Varric rolled his eyes, looking over to where Isabela was unabashedly attempting to devour the elf girl’s ear. Dorian followed his gaze, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey Rivaini, can you go check on Hawke? He was supposed to be grabbing a round of drinks, but I have a sneaking suspicion he’s been distracted by the new bartender.” He nudged Dorian, “Want anything, Sparkler?” 

“Hmm?” He dragged his eyes from public display of affection. You would never see something like that in Tevinter, even between a couple of the opposite gender. “Wine would be welcome. An Antivan if they have it.” Which he seriously doubted they would.

“You catch that?” Varric hollered after Isabela as she sauntered toward the bar. She acknowledged this with a dismissive wave over her shoulder.

“Not to sound ungrateful for the opportunity, but if you already have a Tevinter in your employ, why did you go through the expense of bringing me to Kirkwall? I’m sure Mae told you I’m not an ancient Tevene expert.” Dorian glanced at the backrest of the booth, concerned he would end up stuck to used gum, before leaning back.

“Broody’s skills are a touch more… martial than academic.” Varric cleared his throat.

Dorian raised a brow. “I see…” Though he really didn’t. _Let the dwarf be cryptic_.

Further questions were interrupted by the return of Isabela accompanied by a man Dorian assumed to be the aforementioned Hawke.

“Took you long enough! I had to send ‘Bela on a rescue mission before we all died of thirst. If you can’t keep it in your pants, Hawke, you won’t be allowed near the bar.” Varric shook a finger at the man while grinning.

“Some of us would be perfectly happy if you didn’t keep it in your pants,” Isabela waggled her eyebrows at Hawke before sliding a glass of wine and a mug of amber liquid across the table to Dorian and Varric.

Hawke laughed, plonking three more mugs on the table. “Not my fault they hired such a pretty bartender.”

Obviously deciding not to favour that with a response, Varric reached for his ale, glancing at his watch in the process. “Has anyone heard from Blondie? He said he was coming to tonight’s game.”

 Hawke grunted, shuffling Isabela back into the booth next to Merrill and sitting on the outside edge. “Yeah. He texted a little while ago saying he was going to be late – again. We might as well get the game started without him.”

“In that case,” Varric pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and held them out to Dorian, “As the newest member of our little gang I think it only right you deal the first round.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half of the next chapter is already finished, so I can 100% say the boys meet. I promise. And it's just fluffy and ridiculous. Which my brain keeps trying to make me ruin. I think a bit of angst is ahead. Terribly sorry. I promise it's for a good cause.
> 
> All gay euphemisms courtesy of my editor Leif because I was doing such a bad job of coming up with DA appropriate ones.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders heads to the Hanged Man. The mage boys meet. Anders is more awkward than he'd generally be. There's booze and cards. Isabela has no tact... 
> 
> Ridiculous amounts of dialogue ahead.

Anders sat hunched over, elbows on knees, staring at his laptop’s screen. For the last two days, he had been pouring over Alexius’ and Pavus’ research. A small notebook sat next to the computer, Anders making the occasional note as he read. Lirene was managing the clinic, only interrupting Anders when more mundane healing failed. He was working at a table in the back room, so he was available immediately when needed. Still, he felt guilty leaving his patients to someone else’s care, but his research could help save hundreds.

His back was aching and there was a _pop_ as he straightened and stretched. Neither the clinic nor his apartment had a suitable workspace and his body was starting to suffer from the poor posture and lack of movement. He pressed his fingers into the muscles of his neck and shoulders, warming them with some heat magic to smooth away the knots.

Lirene knocked on the door and peeked her head in. “Ah. You _are_ still here. Aren’t you supposed to be heading to Lowtown?”

“Hmm?” Anders rubbed his eyes and looked over his shoulder with a wince. “Oh. Right. It’s Friday, isn’t it?” He sighed, “I’m sure they can manage one Wicked Grace night without their token healer.”

“Anders.” Lirene sighed his name. “You need a break. No one is going to benefit from you burning out.” She walked over and grabbed his chair.  With a yank, she managed to partially pull it out from under the larger man. “Up. Go take a shower and spend some time with your friends.”

“Yes, mother.” Anders groused and got sluggishly to his feet. He wrapped Lirene in a hug and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re too good to me, Lirene.”

“I am. It’s true. Now shoo.” She nudged him towards the door.

He gathered up his laptop and notebook and went up to his apartment.

 A quick shower helped wake him up and alleviate the tension in his shoulders and back. Trying to look somewhat put together, he combed his hair and tied it back in a small knot and then removed the two ~~-~~ days worth of stubble from his chin. Eyeing himself in the mirror he nodded. Black-circles around his eyes excluded, he looked acceptable. 

“Hey, Pounce. Which one should I wear?” He spread two t-shirts on the bed and considered them. One had **Meow or Never** written across the chest with cat ears above the _meow_ and whiskers on either side of the _or_. The other had a drawing of a cat in mage robes holding a staff and the word **aPAWstate** under in block letters.

Pounce hopped onto the bed and eyed the two shirts. He walked across them, stopping on **Meow or Never**. He turned in two small circles before curling up into a tight ball, nose tucked under his tail.

“So…does that mean you want me to wear that one? Because it’s going to be a bit hard with you sleeping on it…” Anders reached for the shirt Pounce was lying on and was met with a paw and claws. “Right. Other shirt. Got it.”  He laughed and slipped on the **aPAWstate** shirt.

It was warm enough that he chose to forgo his jacket, shoving keys and cellphone in the pockets of his jeans. He scooped up a bag of cat kibble, shouting “Try to stay out of trouble!” toward the bedroom before heading out the door.

Given the nice weather and the cost of a taxi, Anders opted to walk to Lowtown. He liked the exercise and it was an opportunity to stop by Darktown’s feral cat colony. While many people complained about the stray cats, Anders knew they helped control the rodent population and therefore the spread of disease in Darktown and the rest of Kirkwall. Given recent developments, checking in on the cats seemed extra important.

Between swinging by the cat colony and stopping to chat with patients he met on the way, Anders was running over an hour late. He sent Hawke a text as he walked so they'd know he wasn’t lying dead in an alley somewhere. Since he already had his phone out, he started playing the new cat-catching game. He was grinning when he finally reached the door to the pub, having just caught the fat orange tabby who likes boxes. He named it Pounce. He was sure Pounce would have been offended by that which made it that much better.

Knowing which booth his friends would be in – it might as well have had Varric’s name painted on it –Anders didn’t bother looking around as he entered the Hanged Man, but marched straight to the back, raising his hand in a wave, “Sorry for being late again. Hope you aren’t too far a – uh, head… ahead of… me?” He stumbled over the end of the sentence, his brain choosing that moment to register the man sitting next to Varric. Anders blinked and swallowed any further words. He knew Dorian Pavus was coming to Kirkwall but how had he ended up at Wicked Grace night? 

Anders stared. He knew he was staring but couldn’t stop himself. He was just… so much better looking in person. Even in the scant light of the Hanged Man, Dorian’s grey eyes glittered.

“Hey look, our Friendly Neighbourhood Apostate has finally arrived,” Varric grinned. “You’re just in time. Hawke went to get another round and then we are going to start a new game. Feeling lucky?”

Anders thought he detected a little smile on Dorian’s face. Had he noticed Anders staring? _Oh Maker, he must have._ Varric’s greeting gave him something to focus on and he was relieved he managed to reply without stuttering. “The day you manage to keep Isabela from cheating will be the day I feel lucky.”

Isabela gasped, pressing a hand over her heart. “You wound me, dear sir. I would never cheat my friends.”

That would have been more convincing if Merrill hadn’t leaned in and not so quietly said, “Issie, I saw you pocket the Angel of Charity card last round when Hawke was eyeing the bartender.”

“Now, kitten, you saw no such thing.” Isabela ruffled Merrill’s hair and winked at Anders.

“As long as you keep to fleecing Hawke…” Anders was cut off by Dorian’s flustered protest.

“I thought we weren’t playing by Tevinter rules. Since when did the common rules allow cheating?”

“If it was allowed, it wouldn’t be cheating now would it, Sparkler?” Varric clapped a hand on Dorian’s shoulder and grinned. Dorian scowled at the dwarf but apparently decided not to argue the point. Instead, he turned his attention to Anders, changing the subject altogether.

“Apostate, hm?” There was amusement in Dorian’s voice.

“Yes.” Anders bristled, instinctively going on the defensive. “The Circles are a barbaric…” he trailed off as he realized the question had been directed at his chest. This time Dorian was definitely smiling. Well, smirking. Anders glanced down and had to bite back a groan. He’d completely forgotten about the t-shirt. Of all the things to be wearing tonight…

“Adorable.” Dorian drawled, not sounding sincere in the least, but still Anders wanted to grin like a fool. He was proud of the shirt… though it wouldn’t be his preferred choice for making a first impression. Even if it did accurately sum him up.

“You wore that specifically to antagonize Broody, didn’t you?” Varric to the rescue again.

Anders huffed, “Just because he can’t have a calm conversation about mages and mage rights doesn’t mean I should change how I dress just to avoid setting the maniac off.” He glanced around the room for the first time, swiping a mug from Hawke as he arrived with a tray of drinks, “Where is Fenris, anyhow?”

“Hey! That one was mine!” Hawke protested.

“At home studying.” Varric rolled his eyes at Hawke, which was the only reaction his outrage got. “I figured our new guest might be a bit too… mage-y. It’s hard enough keeping you two apart, but a mage from Tevinter? I don’t want to be held responsible for someone getting killed their first day in Kirkwall. And I don’t want to pay to have this place cleaned because Broody tore someone’s heart out… again.”

“In that case, I think I may just be feeling lucky tonight after all.” Anders settled next to Dorian with his pilfered drink. No Fenris and Dorian Pavus sitting in their booth? Positively feeling lucky. He wondered if Varric was going to actually introduce Dorian or if he was going to be forced to admit he recognized him from his photos online. He was concerned that would come off a touch stalkerish. _Just keep pretending you have no idea who he is…_

“Pardon me. Not to potentially derail the conversation but… tear someone’s heart out? That is an exaggeration, correct?” Dorian looked around the table. “And what does me being from Tevinter have to do with it? I thought this Fenris was Tevinter.”  

“Oh he is. Was.” Varric shrugged. “Not my tale to tell. Let’s just say he has a strong aversion to Tevinter Magisters.”

Anders leaned closer to Dorian, muttering out of the side of his mouth, “Which he demonstrates by literally ripping their hearts from their chests.”

Dorian blanched. “You _must_ be joking.” When every person around the table shook their heads, he let out a defeated sigh before throwing on a brilliant, if strained, smile. “Well, then I’ll be just fine. I know it's all the same to southerners, but I’m _not_ a magister. All members of the Magisterium are mages but not all mages are members of the Magisterium. Someone from the Imperium will certainly understand the nuances.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, Sparkler.”

“Should I be asking for hazard pay?” Dorian arched a brow at Varric.

“How about I keep buying your drinks? With how badly you lost last round, you’re probably a bit short.”

Dorian hummed. “Considering this establishment miraculously stocks a palatable Antivan red, you have a deal. Though you may find hazard pay would have been cheaper.”

Everyone laughed, breaking the slight unease that had settled around the table.

 There was a friendly pat on Dorian's shoulder. “Fenris is more bark than bite. Most of the time.” Anders smiled and removed his hand wondering at the musculature he’d felt under Dorian’s silk shirt. More than he would have expected from a mage and scholar.

“I would like to avoid figuring out which action he’ll choose with me. I happen to like my heart exactly where it is. It is somewhat useful.” Dorian’s rings tinkled against his wine glass as he twisted it in his fingers. Anders wondered if it was a nervous gesture. 

“Well, just make sure you have Blondie with you when you meet Fenris. If anyone can put you back together, it’ll be him.” Varric began dealing a new round, casually flicking cards around the table.

Anders snorted. “I think fixing a gaping chest wound and a crushed heart is a little beyond my skills.”

“Always so hard on yourself. You won’t know until you try.”

From the corner of his eye, Anders could see Dorian looking at him. While the light, good humour was still there, it had been joined by a calculating look. Merrill noticed it as well, enthusiastically pointing out, “Anders is one of the most talented healers in Kirkwall. Probably the Free Marches.”

“It’s a pity he’s wasting his talents in a rotten clinic in Darktown giving away his services for _free_.” The word _free_ dripped with disdain and Isabela gave a dramatic shudder to emphasize her point.

“Of course, you wouldn’t understand, Bela, there’s only one thing you’ve ever given away for free…” Anders smirked at her.

“I don’t give anything away for free, darling. I make you work quite hard for it. If you want a reminder...” She drawled and blew a kiss across the table.

“I remember that, actually. You always were a bit selfish.” He grinned and busied himself looking over the cards Varric had dealt him, escaping Isabela’s glare.

There was a lull in conversation as Varric got the game going and made everyone place bets. As usual, Anders bet his medical skills in lieu of coin, keeping a running tab for the winners. He still wasn’t sure how that was acceptable to everyone but it was nice of them to allow it.

“So, Anders…” Dorian paused, waiting for Anders to respond.

“Hm?” He stopped scowling at his cards to look over at Dorian. He was met with a thoughtful expression.

“I believe we have corresponded recently. Earlier this week, actually.”

 _Busted_.

“Oh?”  _Pretend you didn't recognize him_ , he told himself again. “Oh! Altus Pavus?” He shifted his cards into his left hand and offered Dorian his right when the Tevinter nodded. “Such an honour to meet you! Thank you so much for everything you sent. I’ve been reading it over but honestly haven’t found a lot that I think will be helpful. Not to say your work isn’t helpful but…” _Stop talking Anders._ Dorian’s expression shifted into one of wry amusement as he shook Anders’ hand. Anders enjoyed the mixed chill of gold rings and warm touch of his fingers and was sorry when Dorian took his hand back.

“Call me Dorian, please.” He smiled and Anders was sure his heart skipped a beat. “Considering my circumstances, I am pleased I had anything at all to send. If you have questions regarding our methods, I would be happy to discuss them further. Though, sadly, I am not sure it will be of much use.”

“No, no. That would be perfect. We could go over my notes and perhaps combine ideas. I understand neither you nor Magister Alexius are healers, so maybe…”

“Ahem! Mage boys! No business at the card table!” Isabela flicked a balled-up napkin in their direction, hitting Anders in the shoulder. “I don’t know what kind of magical bromance is happening here,” she made a circular gesture indicating Dorian and Anders. “But either fold and get a room or pay attention. Everyone is waiting on you.”

They both had the good sense to look chagrinned and allowed their conversation to drop. The others filled the lull with jokes and stories, most of which involve Hawke doing something reckless. Hawke’s escapades almost always resulted in a visit to Anders and he supposed Hawke was why he was invited to Wicked Grace nights – Hawke actually needed all the free medical services he won.

Each round of Wicked Grace was accompanied by a new round of drinks. When Isabela offered to fetch them, ale suddenly became straight rum. Then shots of something that could probably remove paint. Both Anders and Dorian begged off the hard liquor which earned them jeers from Isabela and Hawke. As the level of inebriation rose the stories flowed more freely and eventually Isabela was listing off sexual escapades, egged on by Hawke and Varric. Anders was sure Varric was taking mental notes for his next book.

Being the, relatively, sober ones, Anders and Dorian mostly chatted among themselves. They tried to keep it casual, lest Isabela started throwing things at them again. Though Anders wasn’t sure she’d even notice at this point. The small talk made Anders realize he and Dorian probably had nothing in common aside from being mages and even that didn’t give them much common ground as Dorian had been raised in the mage-run Tevinter. Still, it gave them something to talk about even if it was dangerously close to talking about “business”.

“Despite my work with Alexius, my expertise is actually necromancy.  I just, sort of, fell into time magic.” Dorian flitted a hand to illustrate his point. He talked with his hands quite a bit. The light glinting off his rings kept drawing Anders’ eyes. “Naturally, I excelled at it.”

“Necromancy? I can’t imagine there is much call for that these days.” Anders wasn’t sure how he felt about the discipline. Sure, magic was a neutral force, morality was all in how it was wielded – he’d made that argument a hundred times -- still... he suddenly expected Dorian to smell of mould and ash and decomposition.  Maybe if he leaned over a bit more, he’d be able to… _Way to be a creep, Anders_. He resisted the urge by tossing in his bet to match Hawke’s even though his cards were fairly dismal. Betting with services rendered and not in coin made it easy to bet without thinking. It also occasionally paid off and allowed him to buy a new cat shirt.  Plus, everyone else was drunk which should play in his favour.

Having already folded, citing poverty despite Varric’s offer of an advance on his wages, allowed Dorian to continue chatting uninterrupted. Anders had decided the Tevinter enjoyed the sound of his own voice. Anders was enjoying the silky voice and slight Northern accent himself.

Dorian hummed. “No, I suppose there is not. I had not anticipated having to apply my talents outside the Imperial Circle. There, necromancy is a purely academic enterprise. I could expand upon the theories and make discoveries without having to consider any practical applications. Knowledge for the sake of knowledge and all that.”

Another marked difference between Kirkwall and Tevinter. Kirkwall’s Circle focused exclusively on areas that were of service to the community. No room for theoretical work. Anders couldn’t help wondering if there would have been more progress in areas such as a cure against Blight sickness if the southern mages had been encouraged to explore and experiment to the same degree as their northern neighbours were instead of only reacting to an immediate problem.

“So, is that why you’re here? Varric required the skills of a necromancer? Are you consulting on his new book?” Anders was skeptical, necromancy didn’t seem Varric’s thing.

“Not at all.” Dorian laughed, a quiet throaty noise. Anders heard Varric snort at the same time. Obviously, the dwarf had been listening. “I’m afraid all he wants me for is my blazing intellect, not my magical prowess. No. I am here simply as an authenticator of Tevene items and a translator.”

“Ah. That makes more sense. Varric is an excellent person to work for. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to sightsee around Kirkwall outside of your duties.” Not that there was much to see. “And if you get the opportunity, I would love for you to come by the clinic so we can discuss your research.”

“Of course. I’d welcome the…Oof!” Dorian’s half-filled glass tilted before landing in his lap. He looked down with disbelief, his slacks and shirt suddenly splattered with wine.

“Oops.” Three people giggled on the other side of the table. “I said no talkin’ business, didn’t I?” Isabela’s words were slurred. She’d thrown a cardboard coaster at Dorian but her aim was off thanks to the alcohol and it had struck the wine glass instead.

“Isabela!” Anders glowered as he grabbed two of the tiny, square napkins that came with their drinks and attempted to blot up the wine from Dorian’s clothes. Being so close, he discovered Dorian did not, in fact, smell of death but instead of warmed spice mixed with musky wood and a hint of… grapefruit? which mingled with the smell of the spilt red wine. Anders thought it was a lovely smell, not too masculine and it suited Dorian well. He hunched, pressing the meagre napkins into the spilt wine on Dorian’s pants, likely doing more to spread the stain than prevent it. Dorian quietly cleared his throat, crossing his legs. It took Anders a moment to realize he was dabbing at Dorian’s crotch, altered to the fact by Dorian’s uncomfortable shifting and Isabela’s snickering.

“You should help him get out of those damp clothes, Anders. Before the wine soaks in and stains his gorgeous skin.” Isabela licked her lips and grinned.

Anders shot Isabela a withering glare, balling up one of the wine-soaked napkins and tossing it at her.  Dorian just sighed. “While I hate to admit it, Isabela is right.  I need to get these into a soak before the stain sets in the silk. Considering the condition of my driver,” he looked pointedly at Isabela, “I think I will be taking a cab. I’ll see you in the morning, Varric.”

Isabela seemed about to protest but Anders shot her a look that silenced her. Putting on his doctor’s voice, he said, “Do _not_ drive home. And please drink some water before you go to bed. That goes for the rest of you as well,” He pointed at each of his friends as he spoke. He slid off the bench, stepping aside and looking at Dorian. “I’ll follow you out. I need to walk back to Darktown and it’s getting quite late.” Anders waved at his drunk friends. “Just… give my winnings and list of losses to Varric and I’ll get them later this week.”

“Going to take my suggestion to get that pretty boy out of his clothes, Anders? You’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow!” As was a frequent occurrence, Anders thought it best not to respond to Isabela.

As they walked to the door, Anders gave Dorian a small smile. “I’m sorry about them. They really are good people but can take some getting used to.” He sighed and shrugged.

“They’re unique. It’s good, I think.” Dorian pulled his phone out to call a cab.

Before they could make their exit, Isabela’s voice boomed from the back of the bar, “Hey Anders! Don’t forget to show him the electricity trick!”

Anders groaned, covering his face with his hands and wishing his phone would go off in that moment with a medical emergency. He was pretty sure his blush extended from his cheeks to below the collar of his shirt.

Dorian looked at Anders, confused, “Electricity trick?”

“Please don’t ask,” He mumbled into his hands, hoping he was successfully hiding his flushed skin. He peaked at Dorian from between his fingers to find him smirking. Anders liked the way Dorian’s moustache quirked when he did that. It didn't help the blushing.

“I’ve always had an affinity for electricity magic,” Dorian lifted his hand, energy crackling between his fingers to prove his point, “How about we share my cab and discuss the… practical applications of the discipline?”

Dorian’s smirk turned into a lupine grin. Anders was sure he’d been less red after a day without sunscreen on the Wounded Coast.

“That…” Anders swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, “Uhm. That would be – uh… lovely. Yes. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now there is [amazing art of Anders](https://kittenmarsh.tumblr.com/post/171974177503/fanart-for-geekelfies-andersdorian-fic-tainted) and his shirt thanks to [kittenmarsh](https://kittenmarsh.tumblr.com) on tumblr!  
> 
> 
> My Anders POV somehow became really Dorian-heavy anyhow. Oops. Sorry. I'm really sorry. 
> 
> Pretty sure this is my longest chapter and I have no idea how that happened. Thanks brain. And thank you for sticking it out with me. 
> 
> I struggled with whether or not to make Anders be awkward, so sorry if Awkward Anders bugs you. Promise it won't be a huge part of his personality (if I wanted that, I'd just write Alistair). 
> 
> I obviously need to bring Fenris into this so I can stop hinting at it... 
> 
> Also, I want Anders' shirt. Someone make me Anders' shirt. :D
> 
> And if you care for some silly reason, in my mind this is what Dorian's cologne is: [ Inamorado ](http://www.jezebelsoaps.com/item/inamorado)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian discovers Darktown, gets a bit lonely, and heads to work with Varric even though it's Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor angst in this chapter. Sorry. But it's totally minor, promise.

Dorian knew nothing about the layout of Kirkwall when he offered to share his cab with Anders. The healer had assured him that while the Darktown Clinic wasn’t exactly on the way to Varric’s estate, it wasn’t completely out of the way either. Dorian occasionally eyed the taxi meter as they wound through Kirkwall, deciding Varric would be getting the taxi receipt in the morning to be reimbursed to Dorian as a business expense. Looking down at the splotches of wine drying on his clothes, he decided Varric would be getting a dry-cleaning bill as well. Let him argue with Isabela about who was paying for it.

Were he still in Tevinter, Dorian would have written the outfit off as a lost cause and purchased a new one the next day. Now? He barely had enough clothing to make it through the week, and that was with wearing the same pants multiple times. With one pair of trousers ruined there would be a significant dent in his options. He’d have to see if Varric would give him an advance on his wages for things other than Wicked Grace bets.

Despite his earlier tease, the ride was not spent discussing carnal uses for magic. He had noticed the other man’s discomfort and kept the conversation light. He wondered about Isabela’s teasing of her ex-lover – he assumed from their banter that they had been lovers – as Anders had seemed embarrassed every time she made a comment about him and Dorian together. While the south was more progressive, Dorian knew homophobia was an issue everywhere. Was Isabela needling Anders because she knew gay homosexuality made him uncomfortable? Dorian hoped she wasn’t that cruel but, on the off chance that was the case, he was happy she hadn’t outed him.

Anders spent most of the cab ride telling Dorian about his cat. Dorian had never heard anyone wax poetic about an animal before and almost felt jealous. No one had spoken about Dorian the way Anders spoke about Ser Pounce-a-lot. The healer’s eyes lit up and he spoke with a soft smile while telling Dorian of how he rescued the cat shortly after he joined the Wardens. The open joy was a good look on him. It softened the hard angles of his jaw and gaunt cheeks and made him look younger.

At first glance, Dorian hadn’t considered the healer handsome. Walking down the street he wouldn’t have given him a second look. He was too thin. Too angular. And that cat shirt? There is _nothing_ sexy about a cat shirt. But seeing him in the glow of passing streetlamps, face alight with happiness, Dorian had to admit there was something there. The exhaustion that had hung off the healer like a cloud had dissipated. The wrinkles around his eyes no longer aged him but instead spoke of times of joy and accentuated the gleam in his eyes. Dorian wondered what else aside from Ser Pounce-a-lot made Anders happy.

Dorian’s attention drifted from Anders as the taxi navigated the narrow streets of Darktown. He frowned as he took in the dimly lit buildings with their rusted fire escapes and graffiti. They’d just driven by yet another person curled up in a dirty blanket on the sidewalk when Dorian couldn’t help it but blurted out “You live _here_?” in disbelief.

There was a snort, possibly intended to be a laugh, from the man seated next to him. “I do. Why?”

“Is it safe?”

“Most days.” Anders shrugged. “I don’t suggest moonlit strolls through the alleys, but most of the criminal activity would fall under petty theft or vandalism.” 

The taxi slowed to a stop outside a narrow, two-storey building. Dorian eyed it suspiciously, expecting to see a Dwarven carta member lingering by the alley.

“I’m sure Varric could spare a room for you. There must be a dozen bedrooms in that place. Why don’t you come back to Hightown with me?”

This time it was a full laugh. “I am perfectly safe here.” Anders set his hand on Dorian’s forearm and gave it a light squeeze. “And I need to be near the clinic in case I’m required. But I appreciate the concern.”

Anders opened the door and slid out of the cab. The burst of cool night air made Dorian shiver, the thin silk doing nothing to protect him. He made a note to buy more sweaters.

“At least now you know where my clinic is,” Anders gestured behind him and Dorian squinted, noticing the sign in the window – a hand with a cross on the palm all in blue.

“You live in your clinic?”

“Above it. Pounce and I share the second level.”

The driver cleared his throat, obviously impatient about remaining stopped in Darktown. Anders leaned into the car, his soft smile back. “Thank you for the ride. Have a good night, Dorian.”

He shut the door and Dorian watched him head down the alley at the side of the building. He had the driver wait until Anders was out of sight, feeling like he needed to make sure the healer made it home safely. As Anders disappeared into the darkness, Dorian thought he caught the faint glow of a magelight bouncing off the damp bricks of the alley and smiled. His previous experiences with southern mages indicated they were hesitant to use their magic openly. He was happy to have found someone who was as proud to be a mage as Dorian himself.

As the taxi wound its way out of Darktown and onto the sloping roads into Hightown, Dorian thought over everything he had experienced in the last day. He felt bewildered and a touch concerned given his interactions with Varric and his companions – they didn’t seem to be the most stable or reliable of people. He pulled out his phone and sent Mae a quick text.

[01:26] _What have you gotten me into, Maevaris?!_

The drive to the estate was uneventful, the streets being nearly deserted. Apparently, Hightown didn’t have much of a nightlife. Dorian was so tired he nearly forgot to request a receipt when he paid the driver and got lost briefly trying to find his room. Luckily, he remembered the portrait in the hallway.

Having decided to make Varric pay for dry-cleaning, and the long day having finally caught up with him, Dorian simply folded his wine-stained clothes and set them on the chair by the desk.  He rubbed his eyes, fingers coming away black from smudged kohl. He knew he should take the time to remove it, both for the good of his skin and for the bed linens, but he found he didn’t have the energy. Quickly putting on a pair of satin sleep pants, he slipped into the large bed. He let out a content sigh, happy to be back in a proper, soft bed after weeks in Redcliffe.

As excited as he’d been to sleep in something resembling luxury, Dorian’s rest was fitful. The wine helped lull him to sleep but he hadn’t consumed enough to properly black-out. Instead, he was plagued by dreams he couldn’t quite remember when he startled awake. He took deep breaths to calm his heart rate, waiting for the effects of the dreams to dissipate. He listened to the old house creak in the otherwise silent morning, slowly remembering where he was.

The house was so quiet Dorian wondered if Varric employed any staff at his estate. The Pavus’ household staff had always been up before the sun rose, preparing breakfast, clothing, and itinerary for Dorian and his parents, and while the staff tried to be quiet there was always some noise. Here, the only sound was the breathing and shifting of the house itself – it unnerved him.

The silence made him feel lonely. It closed in and reminded him how isolated he was from everyone and everything he knew. His eyes started burning and his throat tightened as he blinked away tears. Rolling over, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and quickly video-called Felix, not even checking the time first. He held his breath as the phone rang, not letting it out until it switched over to a live feed.

“Hi. Hold on… just a… minute.” Dorian could hear Felix’s mumbled voice, but the image was solid black. He must have woken him up. He felt guilty about that, his own distress beginning to ebb away at the sound of Felix’s voice. There was a strained cough and then a light flicked on. At first, all Dorian could see was the yellow of Felix’s duvet cover, then the phone was turned and Felix’s face appeared.  He smiled, looking completely exhausted.

“Dorian! Oh. You look awful. Is everything okay?” Felix frowned, bringing the phone closer to his face like it would allow him a better look at Dorian.

“Awful? Truly? You are a cruel man, Felix Alexius. You know I never look worse than “acceptable”.” His voice might have broken slightly on the first word, but he’d never admit it. The relief he always felt upon seeing and hearing Felix washed through him. He sighed. “I’m fine, my friend. Too much travel. Too much wine. And too much time to think. I found myself missing your pretty face.” 

Felix laughed, which set him to coughing. Dorian waited out the fit, knowing even if he had been there he would have been helpless to assist. He tried not to let his concern show as Felix always apologized for causing him distress — as if he had control over it.

“I’m sorry for waking you. I didn’t check the time before I called. Quite inconsiderate of me.”

“Nonsense. You know I love hearing from you anytime.” Felix sighed, leaning back against his pillows. “Everyone else is up already anyhow. I just haven’t been feeling up to much recently, so I was sleeping in.”

“Has it gotten worse?” Dorian couldn’t conceal his worry.

“No. It comes and goes. This is just one of the flares. I’ll feel better in a couple days. I’m sure I simply overdid it at Mae’s party last week. Father told me not to go, but…” But Felix never listened to his father when it concerned his friends. “Enough about me. Tell me about Kirkwall!”

Dorian spent the next thirty minutes chatting. He told Felix about the trip from Redcliffe and meeting Varric’s friends at the Hanged Man. He purposefully left out his discussions with Anders regarding Blight sickness, not wanting to get Felix’s hopes up. Felix listened attentively, interjecting humorous comments as Dorian spoke. It was calming and eventually Dorian’s loneliness and anxiety disappeared.

“Mage. Tall. Older. Socially conscious. This Anders sounds like your type, Dor.” Felix winked.

“What part about “poor” and “cat shirt” did you not understand?” Dorian groaned, making Felix laugh again, this time without coughing. “Besides, I suspect he’s straight. Which makes him very much _not_ my type.” 

“That just makes him even _more_ your type. I seem to recall you having a thing for what you can’t have.”

Dorian responded with an exasperated sigh. “Ugh. Felix. _No_.”

“That’s not the Dorian I remember. My Dorian was always up for a challenge.” Felix teased.

“I’m here to work. Not seduce the men of Kirkwall away from the light of the Maker.” A brilliant smile. “However, if anyone could do it, it would be me. I _am_ prettier than most of the women here.”

“That’s the spirit!” Felix started to cough again, phone shaking with the tremors. It made Dorian’s heart ache.

“You should get back to rest. I’ve taken enough of your time.” Dorian's voice was soft. He did not truly want to end the conversation, afraid the loneliness would return without Felix there to hold it at bay. “Please try not to overexert yourself again. I can’t afford a plane ticket back to Tevinter to look after you.”

“I’ll be fine, Dor. Don’t worry about me.”

 _How can I not?_ Dorian thought but instead said “I’ll call you in a couple days. Just to check in. Maybe I’ll have something interesting to tell you by then.”

“Can the next call be a bit later in the day perhaps? If that won’t be too much of an inconvenience for your illustrious self.” More teasing.

“Of course. My apologies again for waking you.” Dorian paused, keeping Felix on the line as long as he felt he could. “Get some rest. And eat. I’ll talk to you again soon.”

“I will. Take care of yourself in Kirkwall. Goodbye, Dor.”

“Bye.” His finger hovered over the icon to end the call, but Felix beat him to it. When the screen switched back to the dial pad, Dorian smiled sadly. “I’m going to figure out how to heal you, amatus.”

The loneliness shifted into a faint lingering melancholy as he stared at his phone. His fingers rubbed the cool case, worrying away at it as he thought about Felix, Anders and the research.

While he stared blankly at the black screen, the phone lit up with a text from Varric.

[07:18] _Hey, Sparkler! Expect you don’t mind working on a Saturday. When you’re feeling up to it, meet me at my office. It’s right above the Hanged Man._

That was followed a moment later by:

[07:19] _You’ll need to take a cab again. Sorry. The car is still here._

Did the dwarf sleep at his office? Did he sleep at all? Dorian groaned, rolling over to bury his head under a pillow. He’d been looking forward to a leisurely morning which included a long soak in the deep tub in his ensuite. So much for that. He sighed, realizing there was no point in delaying the inevitable, and pushed free of the blankets to get ready to face Kirkwall.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Varric’s office above the Hanged Man was more professional looking than Dorian had expected given its location. The dwarf had leased a space with a few individual offices and a small reception area. It was sparsely decorated: a couple cheap art prints on the walls and an Embrium plant in a pot near a grimy window. Fluorescent lights flickered and buzz overhead. When Dorian arrived he found Isabela leaning against the reception desk, nursing a cup of coffee. She looked like she would need ten more before she'd be functional.

“Is there more of that?” Dorian was suffering a little himself. He’d had his cab driver take him to a local coffee shop first to grab a latte he could call breakfast and caffeine in one. Unfortunately, that one cup was still about two cups too few. While he wasn't suffering the hangover Isabela was clearly battling, between travel, wine and a new bed, his short sleep hadn’t been terribly rejuvenating.

Isabela grunted and waved at one of the offices. Dorian smiled at her as he passed, earning a small scowl. _Not a morning person then_.

What he’d thought was an office was actually a makeshift kitchen. There was a small table and chairs set, shelves with dishes, and an old desk with a coffee maker, a microwave, an electric kettle and a small refrigerator. He snatched up a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee, deciding there was enough left that he didn’t need to figure out how to make more.  The fridge, thank the Maker, contained milk. Dorian had learned quickly in Ferelden that southern coffee required something to dilute it.

 Mug in hand, he popped back into the main area.

“Hey Sparkler, get in here!” Varric’s voice boomed from behind the frosted glass of the centre office’s wooden door.

The dwarf was seated at a desk, his back to windows that looked out onto the roof of the building next door. Not the nicest view in Thedas, but at least there was natural light. He motioned Dorian to one of the chairs opposite and waited until he was seated.

“Ready to get to business?”

“Oh, _eager_. I’m so anxious I couldn’t sleep a wink last night. Not that you can tell given how handsome I look this morning.” Dorian held up his mug of coffee in a salute, before taking a long drink.

“Right.” Varric snorted. “I’ve set up the second office with everything you should need. Laptop, magnifying glass, notepads, sketchbooks, cotton gloves. If you find you’re missing something, let me know and I’ll see what I can do to get it.”

“As much as it displeases me to say, the room will need to be climate controlled. No fluctuating humidity and on the cool side. Given the current temperature in here, just a dehumidifier should suffice if this place has a modicum of insulation and the items won’t have a lengthy stay in my space. I’ll also require either magelights or UV filters covering the fluorescents. I am fine providing my own lighting until filters can be found.” Dorian twitched his fingers, calling a small globe of light to hover by his shoulder. “These requirements apply to where you are storing the items as well, if not in my workspace. Unless, of course, you don’t care what condition the artefacts are in when they reach your client.”

Varric took a couple quick notes, nodding as Dorian spoke. “Sure. Sure. I can get the dehumidifier up here by end of the day. Filters will have to wait until at least Monday. Anything else?”

Dorian contemplated his coffee, humming before answering. “Yes. Anders’ number.”

He looked up to see Varric attempting to control the emotions flickering across his face – confusion, disbelief, amusement. After a moment, the dwarf cleared his throat. “So, he actually took Isabela’s suggestion to…” He coughed. “Nevermind. Sure. Here you go Sparkler.” He scribbled on a scrap of paper and handed it over.  

Taking the paper and shoving it into his pocket, Dorian considered whether to tell the dwarf the truth or let him believe what he wanted. He opted to draw the moment out a little longer.  “Would it be so bad if he had?” Dorian smirked, stroking his moustache with his free hand and dropped his voice into a purr. “A mage who knows his own… prowess… can be a marvellous thing.”

Varric coughed again. “None of my business. You’re both grown men with the freedom to do what, and who, you want. No judgement here.” He threw up his hands. “And it is probably good for Blondie to let off some steam. He’s been wound as tight as a nug in a box since Hawke left him.”

It was Dorian’s turn to be caught off guard. He blinked. _Hawke?_  

Apparently, he’d said that aloud because Varric nodded. “Yeah. They were an item for a while. It ended in a small explosion. They handle it well now, though, don’t you think?”

“But… I thought Anders and Isabela…” Dorian trailed off and Varric laughed.

“Oh, they did. Years ago. They met back in Ferelden at, uh, a club of sorts. You want to know more, ask Isabela. She gets a kick out of telling the tale.” The dwarf shrugged. “Our small group is…  friendly.”

“So, I’m beginning to notice.” Dorian took a small sip of his coffee, needing a moment to parse his thoughts. Not straight after all. At least not completely. “In answer to your original question – no. I dropped Anders off at his clinic and then went to bed.” At the look on Varric’s face, he amended. “My own bed. _Alone_.”

Dorian pulled out his wallet and leafed through receipts before pulling one out and handing it to Varric. “Which reminds me. You owe me for that cab ride. And the cost of dry-cleaning my clothes.”

“Sure, Sparkler. No problem. Anything else?” Back to business, though Varric quirked a brow like he was expecting something interesting in response.

“That should be all for now. I’ll see myself to my office and get acquainted with the work.” Dorian took his coffee and left, Varric eyeing him curiously as he went.

His office was barely more than a closet, but it would do. Dorian didn’t bother with the lights, his magelight having trailed after him from Varric’s office. He settled into his chair, which was decidedly uncomfortable and would _not_ do. Instead of tackling the stack of old manuscripts that lay on the corner of the desk, he stared at his phone and the slip of paper with Anders’ number. After his conversation with Felix, he was more invested in his side project than the musty Tevinter relics he was here to examine. After brief consideration, he sent the healer a text.

[10:41] _Hi, Anders. It’s Dorian Pavus. I got your number from Varric, I hope that’s okay. I was wondering if you had time this evening to start going over the research._

He waited to see if there would be an immediate response. There was not. Dorian wasn't surprised. Anders was probably busy with patients.  Setting his phone aside, Dorian started sifting through the material on his desk. Old diaries. Contracts. Shipping logs. A couple tomes on magic, which Dorian separated into their own pile – these he wanted to spend time with out of personal interest as well as professional. It was an odd mix of items, and he wondered where they came from and who would want such things.

As he was reading through a bill of sale for a dozen slaves – _ugh, why did his ancestors need to be such despicable people?_ – his phone buzzed. He glanced down, smiling at the screen.

[12:32] _Hey Dorian. Sorry. First time I’ve been able to check my phone. I’m sure I can find time but I’m not sure when exactly. Come by the clinic after 19:00 or so? It should have slowed down by then._

Dorian was starting to understand why Anders had those dark circles around his eyes the night before. He sent a quick confirmation back.

[12:34] _It’s a date._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, the hanky-panky has to wait... until Wednesday! I'm posting Chapter 6 a day-ish early because on Wednesday I'll be posting a Valentine's Day special. It won't be part of this but will be added to the [ Love in the Time of the Blight ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/921030) series as a one-shot. It's technically set in the future since the boys aren't anywhere near the romance and sex stage right now, but I really wanted to do something for Valentine's day (it became smut. Oops). So, if you don't want spoilers you don't have to read (okay, not really spoilers since, **of course** , my mage boys eventually end up together and you totally knew that coming in). It's also in Anders' POV to make up for me switching back to Dorian so soon here. 
> 
> Also... Hawke and Anders' relationship ending in an explosion... come on, tell me you grinned at that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian heads to Anders' clinic to finally have a proper face-to-face discussion about finding a cure for the Blight. 
> 
> Food and scientific articles - every academic's favourite way to spend an evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Science and magic mix (and not in a Dagna kinda way). I'm trying to rein in the science-y language as much as I can while still getting my concepts out. Hopefully it works and makes sense. Let me know if it's off-putting in any way because this isn't the only time it'll show it's ugly head.

There was an Antivan restaurant a couple doors down from the Hanged Man. Not a fancy, sit-down place, but one of those holes in the wall with good food and almost no seating. The type of place actual Antivans would go to grab actual authentic food. The type of place Dorian wouldn’t have been caught dead in a year ago. 

He eyed the board behind the counter, trying to figure out what to order. The night before, he had been too busy listening to Anders to absorb how long it took to get from Lowtown to Darktown. Would the food still be warm? Did it matter? He selected a few items, mostly at random, and paid. While he waited for the food he realized he also didn't know the clinic’s exact address. He tried a quick internet search on his phone, knowing Anders was probably too busy to reply to a text; plus, he didn’t want to admit he hadn’t been paying attention last night. Dorian wondered if Anders actually believed he’d remember how to get to the clinic after a single dark cab ride through Darktown.

The news articles – the same he’d read back in Ferelden – didn’t list an address and nothing appeared on the map. Weird. Dorian tried other searches, anything combining _Darktown_ and _clinic_. Nothing. He stared at his phone, slightly offended at how it was failing him. Shouldn’t a clinic be easier to find?

At a loss, Dorian sent a text to Varric asking for the address. His order was called before he’d heard back, and he was left holding a paper bag and trying to decide what to do. Deciding perhaps he’d recognize the clinic once he got to Darktown and hoping Varric would get back to him before that became necessary, Dorian hailed the first cab he could.

That you don’t have an exact address is not a taxi driver’s favourite thing to hear. Dorian apologized and shrugged when the driver sighed at him. He settled into the back, trying to pay attention to the landmarks as he was taken from the Hanged Man to Darktown.

They reached Darktown before Dorian heard back from Varric. The whole district seemed to be made of the same crumbling and nondescript buildings. Dorian couldn’t pick out a single thing he recognized from the night before.  Wait. He recognized that graffiti. _Thank the Maker for street artists_. Dorian had the driver pull over, deciding he would walk the rest of the way rather than paying the outrageous taxi fees. The driver seemed hesitant to let him out without a proper destination, but Dorian insisted. He was perfectly capable of defending himself from hoodlums.

Left standing on a dimly lit street in the bad part of a city he didn't really know, Dorian contemplated his decision-making abilities. The food he’d brought, thinking he’d surprise Anders with dinner since he was disturbing his evening, had gone cold. He realized the graffiti he’d recognized could be a tag used all over Darktown and was perhaps not the best landmark to rely on. Too late. Rolling his shoulders back, he heads further into Darktown, standing to his full height in the hope of deterring unpleasant interactions.  

For the second time that evening he wondered why the damned clinic was so hard to find. It just didn’t seem logical. He knew Anders was working without Circle approval, which would have explained an entirely secret clinic, but that wasn’t Anders’ clinic. It had local news stories written about it. It had a sign in the window.

“Fasta vass, where is it?” Dorian huffed, kicking at a broken piece of cement _. And why hasn’t Varric texted back?_

As if the dwarf was clairvoyant, Dorian’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He’d never been so thankful to get a text message. When Dorian plugged the newly acquired address into his map app he was further relieved to discover the clinic was only a couple blocks from his location.

The blue hand with the cross really was the only identifying mark on the clinic. Dorian couldn't see an actual street number anywhere. He added “asking Anders about the secrecy” to his mental list of conversation topics.

Normal clinics would be closed at this hour, allowing their staff to have a life; there were Circle and mundane emergency rooms for any after-hours cases. Not Anders’ clinic. The small waiting area with mismatched plastic chairs still had patients waiting. As he walked in, Dorian was greeted by a fierce-looking, dark-haired woman sitting behind a small desk.

“There’s about an hour wait to be seen. If you could fill out this form.” She held out a clipboard with some papers and a pen attached by a string. “Doctor Anders will be with you as soon as possible.”

Dorian looked from the woman to the clipboard and back. “I’m not here to see…” He paused and cleared his throat. “Well, actually, yes. I _am_ here to see Anders but not as a patient.”

Before the woman – receptionist? nurse? – could say anything, Anders peaked his head out of a door a few feet away. “It’s okay Lirene. I was expecting Altus Pavus. Can you show him to the back? Thanks.” Anders disappeared back into the room before he received a response. If Dorian had thought Anders looked exhausted the previous night, this evening he looked nearly dead on his feet.

Lirene led Dorian to a small room at the back of the clinic and left him. He looked around, taking in the small metal table and chairs, a laptop, stacks of papers and books, and a very stained coffee mug. Clearly, this was what passed for an office. He was suddenly thankful for the proper desk and chair at Varric’s.

Shifting aside some of the papers, Dorian set the bag of food down and began unpacking it. Based on what Lirene had said, Dorian had at least an hour to kill. Once the food was unpacked he settled into one of the really uncomfortable chairs and started looking through the research Anders had laid out. Most of it he had already read back when Felix was first diagnosed. That was how he had handled the news – he dove into the research. He spent days pouring over everything he could get his hands on. It didn’t matter how small the mention of Blight was, he read it. He even resorted to history texts, hoping there would be some obscure old wives’ remedy that had been lost but turned out to have value.

He had been fortunate in that both he and Alexius had been associated with the most prestigious Circle in Thedas which meant the best resources. Resources which had not been enough. Dorian looked through the pages of abstracts and citations Anders had collated, wondering how he or Anders expected to succeed with these pathetic resources when Dorian and Alexius had failed when they had the world at their fingertips.

“The resources at a Circle almost make the torture worth it, don’t they?” Anders chuckled as he walked into the room. He sat heavily in the unoccupied chair, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“Torture?” Dorian squinted at him.

“You know – corporal punishment. Couple lashes here. Time in a dark closet there. Character building exercises.” Anders spoke so flippantly Dorian didn’t know how to react. He sat staring, mouth slightly open.

 _Was he serious?_  

“Not that time in a dark closet is always a bad thing. There was this one Templar…” Anders trailed off as he noticed the takeout containers. “Oh! You brought food! I’m famished. Thank you. You’re a _god_.”

And that was the end of that line of conversation. Dorian sat dumbfounded as Anders stretched across the table to grab one of the takeout containers. He was already picking up food with his fingers when Dorian had gathered his wits enough to respond.

“I was given the impression you were likely to miss dinner and since I am taking up your evening, I thought it only gentlemanly of me to furnish you with sustenance.” Which was to say – Varric had told him to bring food because Anders never stops to eat and is slowly killing himself while trying to save everyone else.  “I’m afraid it is all cold by now.”

Another small laugh. “I honestly can’t tell you when the last time I had a warm meal other than coffee was,” Anders grunted around a mouthful of some sort of fried cheese ball. Dorian didn’t remember ordering those. He spent a moment looking Anders over. In the bright fluorescents of the clinic, the dark shadows around Anders’ eyes stood in stark contrast to his pale skin. _He looks like he needs to sleep for a week._

Dorian opened one of the other containers, this one had figs wrapped in ham. They looked pretty, something you might see on a platter at a dinner party. He thought he might actually have seen them before at one of Mae’s shindigs. 

While he nibbled, Dorian scooped up some of the papers he’d been reading and waved them in Anders’ general direction. “Most of these are useless.” He noticed Anders look a bit crestfallen and continued. “They _look_ valuable when you skim the abstracts, but I read these when Felix was first diagnosed. Mostly theory with no actual proof. Grand extrapolations. I think some of them have even been disproven. I know this one,” Dorian tossed a couple pieces of paper back onto the table, “ _was_ disproven. By _me_.”

Anders set aside his food while he dug through a different stack of papers, pulling out a full study and passing it to Dorian. “What about this one? It’s out of Seheron.” When Dorian snorted, Anders added, “It isn’t on magic. That’s what’s so interesting about it. These Qunari are claiming success _without_ magic.”

“Without magic? Nonsense. This isn’t a headache that can be cured by some compound that dilates blood vessels. The Blight is magic-based. That’s what makes it so virulent. Everyone knows that.” And to trust research done by the Qunari? It was probably falsified.

Anders seemed to consider Dorian for a minute before he smiled indulgently. “Downside of being from Tevinter, I suppose. Magic is so ingrained in your society that if it can’t solve the problem you assume there is no solution.”

 

Dorian bristled. Anders wasn’t _wrong_ but Dorian couldn’t admit he was right either. Magic was what made his homeland the country it was, which in turn made Dorian who _he_ was. It was ingrained in Tevinter society so deeply they still practised forms of eugenics to create perfect mage bloodlines. That thought made him scowl at Anders, even though his displeasure was in no way caused by the healer.

“Healers. Doctors.” Anders waved his hand in the air dismissively, clearly thinking Dorian’s expression was in response to him. “Whatever you want to call them - call _me_ – are not common. Sure, every mage learns a cursory level of healing but that barely covers minor burns… and yet, people have been managing illnesses and injuries for _Ages_ without the aid of magic. If magic was the only way to fix a broken bone or tend to a fevered child, entire villages would end up wiped off the map. Darktown would have ceased to exist before I ever got here.”

Shoving another cheese ball in his mouth, Anders got up and went to a locked cabinet. He returned with a white pill bottle featuring a red label and set it in front of Dorian.

“Ever taken elfroot tablets for a hangover?”

“Of course, but a hangover isn’t caused by magic.” Dorian couldn't help rolling his eyes. He thought Anders was smarter than this. “Where is this going?”

Anders walked behind Dorian's chair so Dorian couldn't see him. He could feel his presence though. Then he felt Anders’ fingers brushing the short hair at his temples. It felt good, a little shiver ran down Dorian’s spine. He shifted to turn in his seat, “What are… kaffas!” There was a blue glow in his periphery and then a sudden pounding behind his eyes. He jerked his head away from Anders’ hands, groaning as the fast movement increased the pain. “The _fuck_ , Anders?”

Fluorescent lights had never been Dorian’s friend, but that was normally because they simply weren’t flattering. Now they felt like a vicious enemy. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his head in his hands.

Wait, was Anders _laughing_?

Dorian felt a nudge on his elbow and peeked between his fingers. Anders was offering him a bottle of water and some white tablets.

“Try some elfroot. It will help.” There was definitely amusement in his voice. Amusement. At Dorian’s pain.

Last night Dorian had liked Anders. Hell, as he’d watched Anders walk away from the cab he’d _really_ liked him. Now he was struggling not to set his white doctor’s coat on fire. Instead, he snatched the bottle away and grabbed the tablets, quickly swallowing them. Then he continued to scowl as he mumbled into his hands, “I thought you had to take some sort of “do not harm” oath when you become a doctor.”

Oh, more laughing. Lovely. Well, actually, it was kind of lovely. Or would be if Dorian’s head didn’t feel like exploding.

“I’ve taken a lot of oaths in my day. And yet here I am.”

“That fuck does that mean?” Dorian grumbled.

Anders just hummed, returning to his seat. “You should feel better in about fifteen minutes.” He pulled out his phone and checked the time, completely evading the question.

“I would feel better immediately if you would undo whatever you did to my head.”

“Sorry. Too tired. Out of energy from a long day in the clinic helping the less fortunate.” Anders wiggled his fingers as Dorian. Then he grabbed one of the figs, watching Dorian with a smug expression as he chewed. “You’re welcome to try to fix it yourself.”

Dorian was seriously considering setting the man on fire. Maybe even bringing him back using necromancy to do it a second time. Anders, on the other hand, seemed perfectly happy to wait out the fifteen minutes by devouring the cold Antivan food which just made Dorian more annoyed, since his stomach was turning. At least Anders was being quiet.

The pounding in Dorian’s head slowly receded, and he was able to tolerate the lights enough to glare.

“Feeling better?” Anders smirked.

“Getting there.” He rubbed his left temple. “I get the point, by the way. I’m not sure you needed to induce a headache to make it, but I get it.”

“Do you? Can you tell me what it is?” Wow, was that condescension? From a Free Marcher mage? Dorian recognized that he was a number of years Anders’ junior, but that was just uncalled for.

“Ailments of a magical origin _might_ be treated with mundane compounds.” Dorian recited as if he were back in school and had been called on during a lecture. He snatched up the Qunari paper. He still didn’t believe it, but he was willing to entertain the idea, if for no other reason than it stopped him glaring at the infuriating man across the table.  He skimmed over the abstract before flipping to the results. They looked promising, from what he could understand. Magic he knew but this was an entirely different beast. It was frustrating to not fully understand the concepts in the article. The evening was quickly deteriorating, and he suddenly just wanted to be tucked into his bed.

“As hard as it is for me to admit, this is beyond me.” He dropped the papers unceremoniously on the table. “I was never a very diligent healing student and the medical sciences beyond that?” He huffed. “That article might as well be written in Qunlat for all the sense it makes.”

Anders grabbed one of the textbooks from the table and pushed to toward Dorian. He flipped through it until he found the page he wanted, tapping an image of what looked to Dorian like a rod with rounded ends.

“Short explanation is the disease is caused by a bacterium that, at some point, was twisted with magic. This magic is what makes it, as you said, virulent. It not only increases the bacterium’s ability to inhibit the body’s immune response but seems to accelerate its reproduction. It overpowers the body before it can even start to fight back. However, it is still just a bacterial infection. If the bacteria can be killed or segregated, or _something_ , the sick could be treated. And,” Anders sounded excited, “we could eventually create vaccines to protect against contracting it.”

“If it is that easy, why hasn’t it been done?” Dorian most certainly did not sound petulant.

“The magic.” A pause while Anders popped more food in his mouth. “It makes it all very unpredictable,” he mumbled, a few crumbs escaping.

“So, it _can’t_ be cured by mundane means and you made my head feel like a barrel of gaatlok exploded because it is just fun to pick on the Tevinter?” Dorian rubbed his temples even though the pain had subsided. Just to make a point.

“It shouldn’t still hurt.” Anders frowned, getting up and moving behind Dorian again. Dorian flinched as Anders’ fingers brushed the sides of his head and the blue light reappeared. This time there was no pain. Cool and calm washed over Dorian and he relaxed into his chair, closing his eyes. While the headache had been gone before Anders started healing, the magic soothed other pains which Dorian hadn’t been consciously aware of.

As the light died and the magic withdrew, Dorian realized Anders was petting the short hair along the sides of his head, the light stroking of fingers making Dorian’s scalp tingle. He relaxed further, a satisfied hum escaping his throat before he could stop it.

“You look like Pounce when I scratch behind his ears.” Anders laughed softly. “I wonder if you purr.” His laugh really was pleasant when it didn’t feel like your brain was attempting to escape through your ears. Tables turned from the previous night, Dorian flushed at the words and the timbre of Anders’ voice which he definitely would have classified as a purr. Dorian straightened, pulling his head from Anders’ hands and twisting to respond, but before he could, Anders had already settled back in his seat and continued where they’d left off.

“I want to believe it can be cured. We just need to learn to predict how the magic is going to react or how to tamp it down. _Something_. The biggest issue is the speed of progression. The Qunari option takes time and that will only work for the wasting strain, which is the rarer. Most people die within a day or so.  Unfortunately,” He leaned over and tapped at the paper in front of Dorian, “they’ve only tested it in rats so far. No one knows if it will _really_ work.”

Rats. That seemed like an odd choice when the beasts seemed mostly immune. Dorian had read that they suspected rats of having carried the disease to the island homes of the Qunari in the first place. Prior to rats arriving with trading ships, they’d never had to deal with the Blight.

Dorian could feel himself starting to fade, exhaustion making it hard to think. He eyed Anders, who had looked ten times worse an hour ago than Dorian felt even now, wondering how the man was even sitting upright. He gathered the textbook Anders had pushed at him, sliding the Qunari study between the cover.

“I will look these over tomorrow and make notes. I still have some contacts at the Imperial Circle, I’ll see if I can get any further information.” With a barely stifled yawn, Dorian gathered the book to his chest with one arm and pulled out his phone to call a cab. “You look like you could use some rest. I’ll let you get to bed and we can pick this up later.”

Anders didn’t argue but got up to walk Dorian through the clinic. He waited with him until the cab arrived, chatting casually about topics lighter than disease and death. As Dorian stepped away to get into the cab, Anders reached out a hand. Dorian looked at it a moment in confusion, before shaking it.

“Thank you so much for the food. You really didn’t need to do that.” Anders smiled one of his soft, tired smiles. “I look forward to hearing your thoughts once you've gone over everything.”

Dorian was momentarily confused and a touch disappointed by the switch to formality but shrugged it off.  He flashed one of his more charming smiles, still gripping Anders’ hand. “Just let me know when you're available and I'll be there.”

With that, he released Anders and settled himself into the back of the cab. Dorian dozed on the drive into Hightown, feeling the ghost of light fingers through his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I realized I completely forgot to link where I got the Antivan food ideas: [ Dragon Age Recipes ](http://dragonagerecipes.tumblr.com/post/65820460434/antivan-satinalia) is such a fun little source using historical earth recipes to figure out what you'd be eating in Thedas.   
> My lovely beta came through and I can still post on Monday, woo!
> 
> There are moments of this I love and a couple that are a bit meh, so I apologize. I struggled getting out of this chapter what I wanted. So thanks for sticking with me. I know the chapters seem to be getting longer. I promise the next one is shorter. It's also a bit darker, so I'll apologize ahead of time (but the whole thing did start with contracting a deadly disease so...).
> 
> More heads up: I start a new job next week that will likely interfere with my writing speed. Still aiming for once a week, but there may be small delays. I have Chapters 8 and 10 started, so that will help but wanted to let you know in case you think I've stopped. I'll finish the story, I promise. I need to get my boys to the point of that Valentine's Day special. ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders receives a call in the middle of the night and things go downhill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: death and minor grief. Updated tags (including going from minor angst to full-blown angst)

_Buzz_. _Buzz_.

Anders groaned into his pillow and waved a hand to shoo the fly away. The buzzing continued, insistent. After a few seconds, he realized it was his phone on the bedside table. He rolled over, glancing at the time as he answered it. _02:34_.

Before he could speak a woman’s voice, high and strained, said “Doctor Anders?”

“Yes?” That probably shouldn’t have been a question, but Anders was still trying to clear away the fog of sleep.

“Thank the Maker. You need to get over here. Peter isn’t doing well. The elfroot isn’t helping anymore.” She sounded panicked. “ _Please_.”

_Peter? Oh shit, right. What was his wife’s name? Brit? Bren?_

“Bree? It’s alright. I can be there in twenty minutes.” He was already slipping out of the bed and pulling on pants with one hand. “Can you boil some water for me while you wait?”

“Yes… Yes, of course.” Anders could hear her struggling to control her breathing. It sounded laboured.

“Good. Thank you. I will see you shortly, Bree.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Bree hung up. Anders shoved the phone into his back pocket and snatched up a sweater, slipping it over his head as he made his way through his apartment. He snatched up keys, coat, and emergency doctor’s bag before heading out. As he made his way down the stairs he sent Dorian a text. He knew it was a long shot but it didn’t hurt to try.

_[02:50] Don’t know if you’ll see this before morning but my patient has taken a turn. I could use your insight. Or skills._

_Or maybe just your support_. But he didn’t actually type that. It seemed silly even thinking it when he’d known Dorian for less than a week, but it felt true. Dorian had been personally touched by the disease, he could understand it in ways none of Anders’ friends could. His friends barely understood what he did, and would never understand how attached Anders was to his patients. How invested. Anders pulled up his map app to grab the address, which he’d saved for this very situation and sent it to Dorian.

The streets were deserted. He made the trek in fifteen minutes, running most of the way. Running was something he was good at, even if he rarely got a chance to indulge. Bree buzzed him in the moment he pressed the button and he took the stairs three at a time. She was standing in the doorway when he exited the stairwell, looking exhausted and wired at the same time. Before doing anything else, Anders scooped her into a hug. She looked like she needed it. She looked like she needed a hundred.

It had only been a week since Anders had been to see Peter the first time, but he was sure Bree had lost weight since then. She seemed smaller and ready to break. He could feel tears soaking into his sweater as he smoothed his hand over her hair. It was coarse and damp with sweat. He felt like he should tell her everything was going to be all right, but he knew it wasn’t and he hated offering false hope. Sometimes it helped but he suspected they were beyond that point.

Bree let him go, dragging her sleeve across her cheeks as she shuffled into the apartment. The atmosphere was oppressive. There was a sour smell that permeated the thick air. A week ago everything had been clean. Now, most surfaces were covered in dirty dishes, take-out containers and discarded clothing. Anders tried to school his face, quickly pulled a face mask from his bag and slipped it on, as much to hide the crinkling of his nose as to protect himself.

Without preamble, he made his way through the apartment to the small bedroom. The smell was worse there, acrid sweat mixed with bile and the tang of blood. Anders didn’t even need to look at the man on the bed to know there would be nothing he could do.

The only light was the small bedside lamp but it was enough to illumine the damage. Anders assessed the man on the bed. His skin was yellowed with jaundice and marred by purulent sores. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and Anders could hear the crackling from fluid in Peter’s lungs. He wondered if the elfroot had only just stopped working or if Bree had been hesitant to call. _If only you’d taken a few minutes out of your day to check in, you might have been able to do something_ , Anders thought, _perhaps instead of wasting time drinking and playing cards_.

“Peter, it’s Doctor Anders.”

Peter groaned and shifted but didn’t open his eyes. Anders set his bag on the little table and pulled out a pair of gloves, slipping them on. He settled on the edge of the bed and took Peter’s wrist between his fingers – his pulse was weak and disappeared under the slight pressure of his fingers. Even at the touch, Peter didn’t wake.

Anders could feel Bree hovering near the doorway. He pulled off the gloves and rummaged in his bag and, just as he had a week ago, offered her a small bag of dried herbs. “Bree? Can you brew this into a tea? The whole bag for a pot.”

When she had disappeared into the kitchen, Anders held his hands over Peter’s chest and closed his eyes. The soft blue light that accompanied his magic filled the tiny room. He moved the magic methodically through Peter in short waves, seeking out the damage and the illness. He encouraged fluid away from his heart and into the lymphatic system. He pushed fluid from his lungs, resulting in a cough that left pink foam on Peter’s lips. The damage was everywhere – Peter’s body was shutting down.

With no other recourse, Anders used his magic to soothe what he could and make Peter more comfortable. Despite what people thought magic couldn’t fix failing organs, only patch up the damage until there was nothing left to patch.

Exhausted and drained, Anders settled more heavily on the bed. He was panting, body straining more with exertion now than when he’d run through Darktown to get here. Peter’s breathing didn’t have the same rattle as earlier, but it was no more vigorous. Nor did he wake. Anders needed to make sure Bree knew what was happening.

Turning toward the door at the sound of her footsteps, he realized he didn’t have to. Her eyes were puffy and she was sniffing, but her back was straight. She held the cup of tea in her hand like a lifeline. She wasn’t looking at Anders, instead, her eyes were locked on the face of her dying husband. Anders suddenly felt like he was intruding. He shifted off the bed, leaving the space next to Peter open for Bree. She gave a small, sad smile as she took the vacated spot. As Anders stepped back, she balanced the tea on her thigh with one hand and gripped Peter’s hand with the other. The knuckles of both her hands were white.

“I will just be in the kitchen if you need me.” He barely spoke above a whisper as he exited the bedroom. He knew it wouldn’t be long now. There was no point in going back home.

The tea he’d given Bree had not been intended for Peter, but for her. It was an herbal mix to help calm her and Anders believed a warm beverage helped in any stressful situation– as did being kept busy. So Anders opted for both things for himself. He poured himself a cup of the tea and set about tidying up the kitchen. He quickly checked his phone in case he’d missed a message from Dorian, but there was nothing. He wasn’t surprised, _normal_ people set their phones to Do Not Disturb before going to sleep so texts at three in morning don’t wake them. He sent a follow-up note telling Dorian he was no longer needed.

Having finished with the dishes, Anders moved on to the clutter in the living room. He was just folding a sweater when there was broken sob from the bedroom.

Bree was hunched over, with her arms wrapped around Peter’s neck and her face pressed into his chest. Her body was shaking as she gasped and sobbed. Anders stood in the doorway for a moment watching. Peter wasn’t breathing. Anders walked to the bed and set a hand on Bree’s back. He rubbed gentle circles between her shoulder blades, but otherwise let her cry. He wasn’t sure how long they sat on the edge of the bed as Bree cried, but she ended up tucked in his arms with her tears once again soaking his sweater.

One of the reasons the residents of Darktown loved Anders was his empathy and compassion.  His empathy was also one of the things Anders struggled with. It made him an excellent healer but it made it impossible to remain objective. With his patient gone and Bree distraught in his arms, he struggled to maintain his composure.

As Bree’s body relaxed and the sobs turned to hiccups, Anders leaned back. “Come on, let’s get you some tea.” He knew there was a perfectly fine cup untouched on the little bedside table but that wasn’t the point. He helped Bree up and guided her into the living room with an arm around her shoulder. He settled her on the couch and wrapped a threadbare blanket around her shoulders before heading to the kitchen. The pot of tea had turned cold long ago, so he used a bit of his remaining energy to warm it back up. He poured a cup for Bree and one for himself.

Settling next to Bree, he offered her the mug. She took is, hands shaking, and held it between her hands. She stared into the mug, face blank but tears still streaming down her cheeks. Anders rested his hand on her forearm, a tether to the here-and-now.

“Do you have someone you can stay with?”

There was a long pause and Anders wondered if Bree had heard him. Slowly, as if waking from a sleep, she mumbled, “My sister lives a couple blocks away.”

“Do you need me to call her for you?” Anders took a small sip of tea, hoping it would remind Bree to do the same.

“No. I’ll do it later today…” She did take a drink of her tea, though she seemed barely aware she was doing it. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence again, sipping tea. Bree curled further in on herself, yawning into her blanket. Plucking the mug from her hands, Anders guided her to a fetal position on the couch.

“Rest now. I’ll make arrangements.” He tucked her in before stepping into the hallway outside the apartment. He hesitated, phone in hand, considering who exactly to call. He had been trying to prevent Darktown being quarantined and if he used the proper channels the proverbial cat would be out of the bag. Though given the risks, would that be so bad? He had made his original choice thinking he could help, but he had failed.

With a sigh, Anders dialled the Darktown crematorium and requested a pick-up. The location had someone on-call at all hours, which spoke volumes about Darktown. Like most things he did, it wasn’t strictly the sanctioned process, but things worked differently in Darktown. Darktown families couldn’t afford the fees of an ambulance, autopsy and Chantry cremation.

When he had finished on the phone, Anders stepped back into the apartment to prepare the body. Bree was asleep where he’d left her, so he tried to be as silent as possible. He filled a bowl with water and grabbed some towels and headed into the bedroom. After donning new gloves and mask, Anders pulled the bedspread and sheet away from the body, bundling them up on the floor. He set the bowl on the bed, heated it with a touch, and began the process of wiping down Peter’s body.

He needed to ensure there was no blood, so he was meticulous.  It was many bowls of water later before he was satisfied. He fetched a clean sheet from the closet in the hallway and wrapped Peter’s body with that for a shroud. 

Anders woke Bree to allow her to say farewell one last time.

It was after noon before Anders could head back home.  Peter's body had been gathered up and Bree’s sister had arrived. No longer needed, Anders gathered his bag and left. His limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated as he walked down the stairs. He could feel a headache building – lack of sleep, emotional fatigue and the drain on his mana all weighing on him. Which is no doubt why he walked right passed Varric.

“Hey, Blondie.” Varric’s voice was gentle, as if he were talking to a skittish animal.

Anders stopped, squinting over his shoulder at the dwarf who was leaning against a black car parked on the street. He couldn’t figure out why the dwarf would be in this part of Darktown. “Varric? What are you doing here?” Anders’ voice was hoarse and monotone.

“Sparkler was concerned about you, so I thought I’d follow up. When Lirene said she hadn’t heard from you, we decided to investigate.”

“We?” On cue, Hawke leaned out the passenger window of the car and waved.

“You look like you could use a drink, Anders. Get in. We’ll go to the Hanged Man.” Hawke paused as if gauging Anders’ reaction before adding, “I’m buying.”

Perhaps it was the exhaustion, but Anders had to suppress a giggle as Hawke leaned out the passenger window to talk – he reminded him of a dog with its tongue flapping in the wind.

“It is barely afternoon, Hawke.” Anders sighed, before looking back at Varric. “I’m exhausted, Varric. I just need to go home and rest.”

Varric didn’t respond immediately. He stood eyeing Anders like he was looking for something. Anders shifted uncomfortably under the gaze; Varric was more perceptive than most people realized. After what seemed like forever – at least to Anders – Varric stepped back and opened one of the car’s doors. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride home.”

For a brief moment, Anders considered saying no. He wanted to be alone, not in a car with two of the most talkative people he knew. But he was so exhausted he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make the walk back. With a dejected sigh, he climbed into the backseat.  Hawke twisted in his seat so he could lean over the headrest; he never wore his seatbelt.

“How are you doing, buddy?”

“I’m _fine_ , Hawke.” Anders tried not to snap at him, but it was hard. He became grouchy when he was this exhausted. He was working off three hours of sleep and was drained emotionally and magically – it set his nerves on edge.

“You should come to the Hanged Man tonight after you’ve had a nap. Have a few drinks. It’ll help.” The Hanged Man was Hawke’s solution to just about everything. Though to be fair to Hawke, given who their friends were, it actually was the solution to most of their problems. Anders grunted noncommittally and Hawke turned back in his seat.

Driving took longer than walking since the car couldn’t fit down the alleys and had to obey traffic lights. Another reason why Anders normally chose to walk. His thoughts drifted as he watched Darktown out the window. He analyzed the events that had led to him to wrapping a man in a shroud and tried to figure out where he went wrong. There had to be something else he could have done. They arrived outside the clinic just as Anders was starting to doze off.

“Hey Anders, do you need anything? Food?” Hawke’s second solution to everything. It made Anders smile.

“I’m good Hawke. Thanks.” He opened the door to slide out of the vehicle. “Thanks for the ride, Varric. Let Dorian know I’ll talk to him later.” He shut the door before there could be any more conversation.

“Let Lirene know you’re okay!” Varric hollered across Hawke to be heard through the passenger window.

Anders waved weakly at his friends before heading down the alley to get to his apartment. Taking Varric’s suggestion, he sent a quick note to Lirene letting her know he was safe and at home. Even though the clinic was right there, he didn’t have the energy to see her in person.

Not for the first time, he wondered why he lived somewhere that involved so many stairs. He was always exhausted when he came home, and they were always a challenge. _At least they help you have a good ass_ , he thought to himself before rolling his eyes. Yep. Definitely exhausted.

He fumbled his keys and had to fight with the lock. His fingers felt numb and useless, barely registering the handle as he finally managed to open the door. The moment the door was closed, Anders pressed his back to it and slid to the ground. He buried his face in his hands, fingers curling painfully into his hair, and wept.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor, sweet, sensitive Anders. 
> 
> So I couldn't wait until Monday to post this. I just sent Chapter 9 off to my beta and was just itching to upload this chapter. I really like this one (yeah, I'm broken. :) ) and wanted to share. I think this is my shortest chapter yet but it feels like so much happens. 
> 
> As I believe I warned last chapter, shit's getting a bit dark for the next few chapters. I'm terribly sorry. I don't _think_ it is too depressing but since I wrote it I'm not the best judge. My purpose is _not_ to make you cry (if I wanted to do that I'd tell you to go read [ When a Crow Falls](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13724058)). Next chapter does touch a bit on mental health, so if that's a trigger you can skip and still manage just fine as of chapter 10.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders doesn't react well to Peter's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't overly angsty or upsetting (at least compared to the previous one) but it addresses some aspects of depression and a tiny bit PTSD/anxiety. You've been warned.

The sun was setting before the ache in his neck and back made Anders move. He was lying on the floor hugging his knees, his back still pressed against the cold metal door. Pounce had arrived at some point, curling in against Anders’ stomach. When he set a hand on the cat Anders was rewarded with a steady purr he could feel in his abdomen. Focusing on the comforting purr, Anders found the strength to sit up and gathered the cat onto his thighs as he did.

Cold from the metal door seeped through Anders’ sweater and he found himself shivering, a welcome change from the numbness.  His throat felt raw when he yawned. His body was beyond exhausted and his lungs ached from his sobbing. He knew he had to get up but couldn’t bring himself to actually do it.

So he sat, Pounce in his lap, and stared absently into his slowly darkening apartment. Pounce obviously sensed Anders’ distress and stood and put his paws on his chest and wedged his head under his chin. When multiple headbutts failed to elicit more than a cursory pet, the cat reached up to tap a paw to Anders’ cheek.

“Stop that.” Anders knocked the paw away and lifted Pounce from his lap. He set him gently on the floor, giving him a light pat. The cat stared up at him expectantly.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Anders grumbled, and the cat seemed to listen. Rather than continue to judge Anders with his green, knowing eyes, Pounce instead walked to the kitchen. He hopped up on the counter, turned to face Anders and meowed.

“What _now_?” Anders sighed, running his hands over his face and through his hair which had mostly fallen from its tie. His palms came away damp from the tears that had not yet dried.  Pounce turned and meowed again, before hopping down and sitting in front of his bowl.

Having a cat served many purposes – companionship, amusement, vermin control, and sometimes a reason to move. With a groan and a cracking of joints, Anders pushed himself up from the floor, determined to at least feed his cat.

Anders had days when he struggled leaving his bed. Days when he lost sight of the value he was bringing to people’s lives and could only see the failures and the losses. Days he heard the voices of the people from the first half of his life telling him how broken he was, that he only served a purpose if they gave him one. 

His parents, the Chantry, the Circle, the Templars – they all had a home in his mind and some days he struggled to keep them locked away. He knew, deep down, they were wrong. He was proud of himself. Proud of what his magic could do for other people, except… it didn’t always work. Sometimes, he couldn’t save someone and then he couldn’t help but wonder…  But Pounce was always there to make him get up because he had a life depending on him for love and food.

As he poured kibble into Pounce’s bowl, Anders tried to objectively assess himself. He’d moved beyond sorrow and was bordering on emotional blunting. He knew he should be feeling _something_ but he couldn’t find the emotions. Anger, grief, frustration – they were gone. The emotions had disappeared and been replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. His throat ached and his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. His vision was blurry and his eyes were scratchy, the skin around them puffy and sore. He knew he should eat something, it was nearing twenty-four hours since he had anything more substantial than tea, but he couldn’t find the energy.

With a deep, shuddering sigh, Anders made his way to his bed. His movements were mechanical as he stripped down to his boxers. His phone fell from his pocket, clattering to the ground. When he picked it up he noticed multiple missed texts and calls from Varric, Lirene and Dorian. He scrolled briefly through the messages – all checking in on him – and then set the phone on the bedside table, screen down.

He just couldn’t respond right now.

Crawling in between the cool sheets, Anders buried his face in his pillow and prayed for sleep. The Maker was kind and exhaustion quickly took him.

No nightmares plagued him and when he finally woke his apartment was flooded with light. He groaned and pulled his spare pillow over his face to block it out. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept past dawn and yet he still felt drained. His head ached as if he’d spent the night drinking and his mind whirred, thoughts skittering away before he had the chance to dwell. His mind teased him with thoughts of images of his failures, reminding him of what he must face.

Anders resisted getting up for as long as he could. His bed was warm. His bed was safe. He could pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Except it did. He was reminded of that fact when an unexpected pressure landed on his bladder, causing an aching discomfort and sudden urgency.

“Pounce, _get_ _off_!” Anders twisted his hips, throwing Pounce to the floor. The cat let out a _mrrt_ and Anders could hear his back claws clicking on the floor as he wandered away. Anders felt a sudden pang of guilt and flung the pillow from his face with a disgusted noise. He rolled out of bed, shivering when his feet touched the cold hardwood. _At least guilt is better than feeling nothing at all_.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, tracing the patterns in the wood with his eyes as he gathered the energy to stand; the will to stand. When he could no longer ignore his bladder, he pushed off the bed. Yesterday’s clothing lay scattered across the floor of his little alcove. He stood considering them before grabbing his bathrobe instead. The material was scratchy and he pulled it tight against his skin, savouring the discomfort. He shuffled as he moved toward the bathroom, feet barely leaving the floor, while his shoulders curved inward as if he were crumpling in on himself.

As he washed his hands he leaned over the sink and he studied his reflection in the mirror. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper and more numerous; the angles of his face more pronounced. He looked like a ghoul in the harsh light and thought of Dorian and his necromancy.

Another stab of guilt.

Thinking of Dorian made Anders’ stomach twist and clench. He wasn’t sure where to go from here. The driving force behind their interactions had been to find a solution to Peter’s illness. Now that Peter was gone, Anders hardly saw the point in continuing. Objectively he recognised the issue was bigger than that, but he _knew_ they wouldn’t succeed. If Dorian hadn't been able to find a way to save his friend with all the resources of the Imperial Circle available to him, what hope did Anders have? He had given Dorian false hope; he’d given himself false hope. _I should never have reached out to him_.

Wrapped in the terrycloth robe, Anders wandered into the kitchen. He fed Pounce, movements so routine he didn’t need to think. He once again contemplated food for himself, but he had no appetite. There was a lead cannonball in his gut taking up all the space and the ache radiating from his chest made it hard to swallow. He settled for making a cup of tea.

Just the act of making tea left Anders drained. When he’d finished, he shuffled to the living room and sank onto the couch. He felt like he was pushing through water. He sat, holding the warm tea mug between his hands, and just stared out the large windows that overlooked Darktown.

Anders was still sitting there with his mug clutched tightly in his hands, the tea long gone cold, when there was a pounding on his door. It took a moment for his brain to register what the noise was and he blinked as if he’d just been roused from sleep. It was late afternoon and he had no idea how it had gotten so late.

He set his mug on the coffee table and stood to answer the door. Before he could reach it, Lirene was yelling, “Anders! Makers breath, where are you?” and he could hear a key in the lock.

The concern in her voice pushed him out of his fog and he was more alert when she burst through the door. He pulled his robe tighter to ensure he was covered.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” She looked him up and down, the crease between her brows deepening. “Are you feeling okay?”

He ran a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck, unable to make eye contact as he mumbled, “I’m just tired, Lirene.” He glanced up at her face before quickly looking back at the floor. “I didn’t hear my phone.  I’m sorry.  Is everything all right?”

“I don’t know, Anders. Is it?” Lirene stepped closer, forcing him to make eye contact. One downside of his height was that it was nearly impossible to not look her in the eyes when she stepped in against him. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders, making it easy for her to put herself in his line of sight.

“I just needed to catch up on sleep. I’m fine now.” What he would normally do was make a joke such as _It is now that a beautiful woman is standing so close to me_ but knew Lirene would see right through it… and it just took so much energy to feign levity.

While she clearly didn’t believe him, Lirene let it drop and stepped around Anders and went to the kitchen. He shut the door and turned to watch her but didn’t move from the doorway, not entirely sure what to do. Lirene dropped a paper bag on the counter and started rifling through his cupboards.

“Can I help you with something?” Anders followed after her and leaned heavily against the kitchen island.

“Where are your bowls?”

“Middle drawer to the left of the sink. Why?” He started unrolling the top edge of the paper bag, curiosity winning out over apathy. _Progress_.

“Because you need to eat.”

“I can just eat straight from the container,” Anders said as he pulled a large styrofoam tub from the bag. It was warm and something sloshed against the sides as he moved it. Soup. She brought him soup like he was a child with the flu.

“There’s enough in there for at least two servings, you _are not_ eating from the container. Give it here.” Lirene snatched the soup from his hands and popped the plastic lid off. She’d found a bowl and spoon and proceeded to portion out the soup. “Go sit, I’ll bring it over.”

Not having the energy to argue, Anders wandered back to the living room and settled on the sofa. He considered his teacup a moment before reaching out to reheat it with a hint of magic. He was sipping it, once against lost in thought, when Lirene arrived with the soup. She set it on the table, nudging Anders’ knee with her own, and smiled fondly at him.

“I am going to go back down to the clinic now. I expect you to eat that.” She leaned down and gave him a light kiss on the forehead. “And call - or at least text -  Varric back, please. I can’t keep managing your patients and fielding calls from your benefactors.”

“Yes, _mother_.” Anders tried to smile at her, though it felt strained and likely came off more as a grimace. He set his tea down and picked up the soup, cradling the bowl in one large hand. He swallowed a spoonful while Lirene was still watching, just to placate her.

“Good. I’ll check in later. Get some more sleep.” She walked to the door, adding “I hope to see you at the clinic tomorrow,” before stepping out.

The soup was good. Nothing fancy but rich and flavourful. The smell made Anders’ stomach rumble as it suddenly remembered how to be hungry. The sun was already edging toward the horizon when he’d finished eating and set the bowl in the sink.

 _A whole day wasted._ Anders didn’t usually do well with inactivity. He always needed to be accomplishing _something_. Most days it was healing patients. Lately, it was a mix of seeing patients and research. Either way, from dawn until well past dusk he was active and productive. His body ached more from this one sedentary day than it had from any of the days he'd fallen into bed exhausted.

Despite having only risen a few hours before, Anders headed to bed once more. Maybe one more night of sleep would push away the pain and numbness. Trying to do as Lirene said, Anders grabbed his phone from the bedside table. It was almost dead, having been left unplugged the night before. He scrolled through the two dozen messages and picked up five voicemails. Varric and Lirene had become increasingly concerned as the hours progressed without Anders responding. Once again there was that burning, twisting guilt in the pit of his stomach.

Still without the energy to hold a conversation, Anders sent a quick text to Varric to let him know he was _fine_.

Dorian had texted five times, most the previous afternoon. There was nothing recent, the man had obviously given up on Anders. Anders hovered a finger over the screen and debated sending a note to Dorian while he still had the energy to text… but after a second set the phone back on the little table with a sigh, this time remembering to plug it in.

Anders curled back into bed, the sun barely set.  He thought he needed sleep. That sleep would solve all the problems – he was only tired. Enough rest and everything would go back to normal.

Instead, he was left with his thoughts and his thoughts were far from healthy right then. He analyzed every little thing he’d done in the last week and a half. Not just how he’d handled Peter’s case but every little interaction with every person he was in contact with. Mostly, he thought about Dorian. He thought through the email he sent Dorian that initiated contact, the evening at the Hanged Man where he’d made a complete ass of himself, the cab ride home, when Dorian came to the clinic...

Thinking of each interaction with Dorian left him perplexed. He tried to control himself and be professional, but he kept slipping. Small comments. Lingering looks. Light touches. _God, he must think me a complete creep_.

Anders rolled over and buried his face in the pillow with a groan. He could still feel the velvety hair on the sides of Dorian’s head. He knew he’d lingered too long, petting Dorian like a cat but he hadn't been able to stop himself. And then the flirting? _Ugh_. He couldn’t imagine facing Dorian again. And then when he had tried to go back to a professional demeanour, Dorian had looked at him weirdly. _Why?_

His body may have been exhausted but his mind was determined to punish him. He tossed and turned, pulled the blankets up to his chin and pushed them back off. The touch of the sheets made his skin crawl and eventually he just had to move.

With a defeated sigh, Anders got up. He grabbed his pants from the floor and pulled them on then slipped on his boots. He needed to get out of the apartment. It felt oppressive. He needed air – even if the air in Darktown was fetid.

He didn’t bother with a shirt, just zipped up his jacket to stave off the cool morning air. According to his cellphone, it was just after four in the morning. At least he didn’t have to worry about running into someone wanting to talk.

Anders paused in the alley, gulping in air like he’d been near drowning. He felt lighter just being outside. He stood straighter and had some confidence in his step instead of the shuffling he’d been doing for the last day.

As he’d expected, the streets of Darktown were deserted. Even the criminals were largely in bed by four in the morning. Anders tried to let his thoughts float in and out, focusing on the movement of his body. The cool air helped calm his nerves. There is a hush that falls over a city during the hours just preceding dawn and Anders savoured in it. It matched his mood – subdued, cool, dark but calm.

He’d been walking for an hour when he neared the unofficial dividing line between Darktown and Lowtown. It wasn’t quite “the other side of the tracks” but the residents of Kirkwall knew exactly which street you shouldn’t cross; you never went east of Amell Street. He was turning to head back home when he heard the rumbling of heavy machinery and muffled talking. Cautiously, he moved to the edge of a building and peeked around.

Large trucks blocked Amell Street. There were a dozen people working efficiently on setting up a fence that extended right across the road and sidewalk and disappeared around a building. Anders squinted, trying to make out more details. It looked like a mix of city constabulary and Templars.

Anders couldn’t suppress a shudder, suddenly inundated with emotions. The sight of the Templars pushed him from apathy into panic. His heart raced and cold sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades. The voices and engines were drowned out by the whooshing in Anders’ ears. He suddenly felt like he was being suffocated and unzipped his jacket, fumbling with numb fingers.

With a shuddering breath, Anders stepped back around the corner. He pressed his back against the brick, gasping in breaths as he tried to gain control over his body.

“ _Fuck_.” ~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Anders. I really do. I know it's really hard to tell that right now...
> 
> If you feel like you need something lighter, I'm now also posting Hawke x Anders fluff... because my heart needed a break from all the pain I'm causing my sweet feathermage. There's Dog _and_ Pounce in this: [ Must Love Dogs ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13813704/chapters/31764687) is a Hawke POV though, not Anders. Sorry. ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Darktown under quarantine and Anders suffering from the loss of his patient, Varric tries to figure out how to get Anders out - it's a good thing he has a Tevinter mage on the books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly angst free. Yay!

The books seemed to multiply daily and Dorian began to wonder where Varric managed to find so many old Tevinter artefacts… and who in their right mind would want them? Sure, there were Circles and museums which would happily take the items, especially in Tevinter, but they wouldn’t require some exiled Tevinter mage to do the translations. Private collectors importing illegally?

Dorian flipped through an old spell book trying to translate each spell. He was meticulous in his translations, often pausing to reference previously translated materials to ensure the meanings of words were as precise as possible. When describing a dinner party the difference between “chandelier” and “candelabra” might not be significant but with a spell? That could be the difference between lighting a candle and burning down the building.

His fastidiousness was not only because that’s what Varric was paying him for, but because he was personally interested in this particular topic. Tevinter was one of the few countries that hadn’t lost most of their ancient arcane knowledge, but there were still gaps. So far, the book hadn’t provided any new information and Dorian was disappointed. He had hoped the book would provide something interesting to take his mind off Anders and Felix.

As much as Dorian knew that staring at it wouldn’t suddenly make it light up, he couldn’t help glancing at his phone every five minutes. He hadn’t heard anything from Anders since the ominous text the previous morning telling Dorian he was no longer needed to help Anders with his Blight patient. Dorian knew that could only mean one thing, and he was worried about the healer. While he hadn’t spent much time with him, Dorian suspected Anders was more emotionally invested in his patients than he should be, and Dorian was concerned what the death of a patient might do to him.

The death of Anders’ patient also brought Felix’s precarious state to mind and Dorian felt himself slipping into melancholy. He had tried reaching his friend but had received no reply from him. That was more concerning than not hearing from Anders. He was tempted to reach out to Mae and have her check in on Felix. Anything for an answer.

Dorian hated being so far from Felix when he was gravely ill. He was still holding out hope for a miracle, especially with Anders finding the Qunari study showing a potential cure. He had sent an email off to Felix after he’d read the study thoroughly. If Gereon had been willing to resort to experimental magics to cure Felix surely he wasn’t beyond trying a Qunari treatment – even if it hadn’t been tested in anything other than rodents.

With a sigh, Dorian set the spell book aside and picked up a small personal journal. He didn’t have the focus needed to translate spells. The journal’s writing was neat and precise, even if the language was archaic. He set it on the stand next to his laptop and began transcribing the translation. It was hardly the most riveting thing – descriptions of dinner parties, observations about political rivals, family disagreements.

While Dorian found history quite fascinating, hence his knowledge of ancient Tevene, there were only so many journals written by long-dead Magisters he could read before needing wine. He became more and more disgusted with his ancestors as he went through the items Varric brought – slavery, blood magic, war, caste-systems, eugenics; it read like bad dystopian fiction.

The light of Dorian’s phone startled him and he scooped it up, heart in his throat in the hope it was Anders or Felix.

But it wasn’t.  
  
It was Varric asking Dorian to his office… because he couldn’t just get up and join Dorian in his? Rolling his eyes, Dorian closed his laptop and headed to the dwarf’s office. Before he’d even reached the closed door, Dorian could hear raised voices.

“I will not!” said a voice Dorian didn’t recognize. 

As he lifted a hand to knock, the door flew inward and Dorian was nearly knocked right over by a dusky-skinned elf who stormed through the door.

“Venhedis! Excuse _you_!” Dorian stepped back quickly and glared.

This was obviously not the correct response, as the elf stopped dead in his tracks.

For a moment he just stood. Dorian could see the muscles of his jaw working as it clenched and unclenched. Then, just as Dorian was relaxing and about to head into Varric’s office, a fist gripped the front of his shirt. He found himself pressed against the wall next to Varric’s open door, the elf’s face so close their noses almost brushed.

 _He has the most amazing green eyes_. The thought flitted through Dorian’s mind before he was able to gather his wits. He raised his hands against the other man’s chest and pushed, trying to knock him back.

Now, Dorian considered himself to be in decent shape. Sure, most of his exercising was done out of vanity but that didn’t mean he took the easy way out. If you were going to have muscles, they should be useful. He shoved, fulling expecting the smaller man to step back. But he didn’t. Instead Dorian felt the grip on his shirt tighten.

“Who. Are. _You_?” Each word was spoken through clenched teeth and finished with a snarl.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. He was trying his best to not just blast the damn elf across the office; he didn’t want to break any of Varric’s nice things.

“Dorian Pavus.” Dorian wasn't quite able to control the squeak in his voice, which he blamed on the collar of his shirt slowly cutting off his air. If the elf twisted any more, it would certainly ruin the shirt.

Dorian never broke eye contact. He stared the elf down, putting on his best haughty magister look and flashing a brilliant smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Normally people backed down when presented with unflappable confidence. This was one of the rare occasions it didn’t have its intended effect. Instead, the elf growled deep in his throat and began to glow.

Glowing. A _glowing_ elf. Dorian blinked rapidly, composure slipping.

It wasn’t the elf himself that glowed, precisely, but an intricate pattern of tattoos. They must have been covering most of his body for Dorian could see light shining through the elf’s t-shirt. Dorian could taste a metallic tang at the back of his throat – lyrium? -  and curiosity almost outmatched concern for his safety. _Well, that’s new_.

“ _Pavus_.” Dorian had never had his name spat at him like a dirty word before. Normally the disgust was couched in velvet disdain and a fake smile; the civilised way. He could feel spittle on his cheek and the elf’s breath was starting to make his skin crawl.

Letting the smile slide into a more menacing baring of teeth, Dorian spoke with an even tone of command, “Release me.”

“Or what?” The elf tilted his head, eyes narrowed and teeth bared right back at Dorian.

Under _other_ circumstances, Dorian would have been quite happy to have the attractive elf pin him to a wall… _Really, Pavus, that’s where your mind is going right now_?  

Just as Dorian was gathering electricity into the palm of his hand, Varric spoke from the doorway.

“Broody…” There was a note of warning in Varric’s voice. Dorian wanted to look at Varric but didn’t dare break eye contact with the elf; he felt like it was the only thing keeping a wolf at bay. That feeling was reinforced by another deep growl from the man pinning him to the wall.

“Going to introduce me to your friend, Varric? I normally like to get a least a first name before letting a man pin me to a wall.” Back to the charming smile as he said, “Of course, exceptions can always be made.”

“Letting,” the elf snorted and released his grip on Dorian’s shirt. The light slowly faded back into the tattoos but the elf did not step back.

“Sparkler, meet our resident brooding elf – Fenris. I believe you’ve heard him mentioned.” Dorian took a chance and glanced at Varric, who wore a strained smile.

“Quite right,” Dorian looked back at Fenris, attempting a mocking grin that he wasn’t quite sure he pulled off, “The _heartbreaker_.”

Fenris made a disgusted noise and stepped back, whirling on Varric. “You consort with too many mages, dwarf. Nothing good will come of it. I can see the value of a healer but a Magister?” He sneered, fist clenching at his side.

Dorian watched that fist closely, remembering the conversation at the Hanged Man. He liked his heart exactly where it was.  Somehow that survival instinct didn’t reach his mouth, as he said, “Well luckily I’m _not_ a Magister. Just your everyday Altus expatriate trying to survive the freezing temperatures of the south.”

“Altus. Magister. It makes no difference. All Tevinter mages are the same. You all subscribe to the elitism that has kept the same Tevinter families in charge for a hundred Ages at the cost of the lives of those you trod on. You have no problem using the rest of us like _slaves_.” It sounded like Fenris had practised that speech.

It was hard not to bristle at the words. Tevinter elitism was one of the reasons Dorian had end up in Kirkwall. It was also hard to disagree with them after spending hours pouring over materials that backed up Fenris’ views. The Altus class had used people for Ages to manoeuvre themselves into a place of ultimate control.

“While I will admit that most mages in Tevinter have a certain level of unjust privilege, _I_ do not prescribe to the same elitist views.” Dorian wasn’t quite sure what would defuse Fenris, but he was trying.

“Nor are you working to change them.” Fenris’ anger had decreased from murderous to simmering.

Dorian sighed, a mix of exasperation and sorrow. “If I could change things in Tevinter, I _would_. Starting with the rampant homophobia. You are not the only one to feel the effects of Ages of Tevinter tradition.”

That seemed to give Fenris pause. He studied Dorian before huffing. “I’m sure,” he said with derision.

It wasn’t a budding friendship, but Dorian no longer felt his life was in immediate danger. He could push the issue; ask Fenris what _he_ was doing to change their homeland, but this time he was able to hold his tongue. Sometimes self-preservation won out.

When it was clear the hostilities had ceased, Varric cleared his throat. Fenris was such a powerful presence, Dorian had momentarily forgotten Varric was standing a couple feet away.

“Now that we can all get along,” Varric shot Fenris at look before continuing, “If you would both join me in my office for a few minutes we have –“

“I already told you no, Varric,” Fenris said and walked to the main door. He turned as he opened the door and added, “Call me when he’s actually in danger.”

When the door had closed, Dorian looked at Varric with an arched brow. “The fuck is his problem?” Dorian ran a hand down his chest attempting to smooth away the wrinkles in his shirt.  “And when who is in danger?”

Varric sighed, gesturing to his office. “Blondie.” Completely ignoring the question about Fenris he added, “How’s your Fade Step?”

The quick change of topic made Dorian’s head spin. _What had Varric asked Fenris to do? Why is there the possibility of Anders being in danger?_

“Passable,” Dorian smirked as he followed Varric into his office. “But I haven’t had much call to use it since I stopped sneaking into clubs underage.” He settled into one of the uncomfortable chairs, legs crossed and an arm draped across the back, looking much more relaxed than he actually felt.

“I suspect your idea of passable is most people’s exceptional.” Varric said with a laugh before sobering. “Have you seen the news this morning?” Varric waved a newspaper at Dorian.

_Who still reads the news on actual paper?_

“I have not. I’m not a big fan of puff pieces on the local bakery helping the less fortunate or petty crime statistics.”

“Well, you might want to read today’s.” Varric dropped the paper on the desk directly in front of Dorian.

The headline read: **Blight in Kirkwall! Darktown Under Quarantine.**

“Vishante kaffas!” Dorian leaned over the paper.

Technically speaking, the first part of the headline wasn’t actually news to Dorian, but a quarantine? _Was that why Anders wasn’t responding?_ Dorian skimmed the article and discovered it wasn’t Anders’ patient that had triggered the quarantine, but someone who had visited a Circle healer. Dorian looked up from the paper with wide eyes. “Have you heard from Anders? He hasn’t responded to any of my messages. Do you think he’s all right?”

“Both he and Lirene have been in contact. Everyone is fine. Or as fine as they can be.” Varric frowned. “Anders is taking his patient’s death pretty hard and the presence of Templars in Darktown isn’t helping his state.”

Varric tapped a finger on the arm of his chair and a manic grin broke out. “Which is where you come in.”

“And Fade Step?” Dorian responded sceptically.

“Exactly.” Varric started rummaging on his desk and pulled out an old, faded map. He leaned over the desk, smoothing the wrinkled paper. “Ages ago, Kirkwall was quite a city of crime. There are smuggler and bootlegger passages all through the city. One,” He tapped a spot in Hightown, “starts at Hawke’s family home.” He glanced up and grinned. “Don’t ask.”

Dorian hummed, examining the map. It had originally been a regular map of the city but someone had taken red ink and drawn out the passages. He drew a finger along a line that ran from the estate Varric had indicated, down to within a few blocks of where he estimated Anders’ clinic and apartment resided.

“And we know these are still functional? Why hasn’t the city filled them in?” Dorian did not want to go traipsing around ancient tunnels to end up trapped in a collapse.

“The important ones are still functional. City officials have been encouraged to…look the other way.” Varric said with another grin. “You shouldn’t have any issues getting from Hawke’s to Darktown. A few years ago, you would have even ended up right at Anders’ clinic but he was forced to move locations. Now it is about three blocks from the tunnel exit to Anders’ place.”

That didn’t sound so bad. Dorian kept studying the map. “Why me?”

“Well, as you might have guessed based on his antics, I asked Broody first. No offence, Sparkler, but Fenris is built for a fight and has some unique skills.”

“I noticed,” Dorian said under his breath.

“But he declined. He doesn’t think Blondie is in any danger so isn’t willing to enter a plague zone to save his ass.” Varric rolled the map back up and tucked it into a little leather cylinder. “He cares. In his own way. But, since the lyrium elf is out I need someone else who can move quickly and unseen… and I don’t feel like hiring an assassin for this.”

“So I get to Anders… and then? If he’s still able to communicate and you know he is unharmed, why am I going there? Because I’m such diverting company?”

 “Right, Sparkler, I’m sending you into a quarantine zone to entertain the strung-out healer. I have some balloons and a ukulele here for you as well.” Varric snorted. “You are going to get him out. He may _say_ he’s okay but there’s no way he’s going to keep it together with a contingent of Templars practically on his doorstep.”

There was a story here that Dorian was making a note to ask about. It was slotted just above “why the hell is your clinic so hard to find?” Perhaps the two were related.

 In Tevinter, Templars were just for show: fancy guards outside the Imperial Chantry who wore antique armour to impress tourists. Dorian knew southern Templars still performed active guard duty for the Chantry and Circles; a private religious military used to keep citizens, mostly mages, in line. Dorian wasn’t particularly worried about a potential encounter. He wasn’t as easily intimidated by brute force as a young southern mage might be.

Anders’ flippant comment about corporal punishment popped to the forefront of Dorian’s mind and he frowned.

“Right. Get in. Get the healer. Get out. Sounds simple enough.”

“Let’s hope it is as simple as that.”

“And Fade Step?”

“Just a precaution to get you around any pesky law enforcement you encounter.”

Dorian hummed, toying with the edge of his moustache. He thought through the plan – if “get in, get out” could be called a plan – and shrugged. “When do I leave?”

“After nightfall. Don’t want you running into anyone when you step out of the wall.” Varric tossed the map case over the desk. Dorian fumbled as he caught it. “Take that.” He pulled out his wallet and counted out a significant sum and handed that over as well.

“When in doubt – bribe.”

 

* * *

 

 

Unable to focus on translating, Dorian took the afternoon to head to Varric’s and prepare for their little escapade. He took a nap, a long shower, and picked out an outfit.

All black seemed the most fitting choice for sneaking into a quarantine zone like the protagonist from some movie. He eyed the meagre options, settling on a black button-down shirt, black jeans, his combat boots and a leather jacket he’d recently picked up to help him manage the cool Kirkwall nights.

With time to kill before heading to Hawke’s, Dorian pulled out his phone. He called Felix, hoping a call would succeed where texts had not. The more the phone rang, the lower Dorian’s heart sank.  After seven rings, he was sent to voicemail.

Dorian took a deep breath in and let it out slowly as the automated message told him to leave a message after the beep.

 _Beep_.

“Hey Fee, you better not be getting up to no good without me. Or if you are, you know I expect all the juicy details. So, call me back. Please. Or send me a text when you can.” Dorian’s voice trembled, and he paused to take a deep breath. “Be well, amatus.”

He hung up and his voice broke as he whispered “Please be well” at the dark phone, blinking away tears. He fiddled with his phone a moment longer before stashing it in his jacket pocket. He’d reach out to Mae once the rescue mission was complete.

The sun was setting when Dorian made his way to Hawke’s estate. It wasn’t far from Varric’s and Dorian enjoyed the walk as it helped calm his nerves. He couldn’t decide what had him jittery, it wasn’t the first time he’d sneaked into a secured location. In fact, he’d lost count of the number of times he’d broken into a private library. His mind kept skipping to Anders and there was suddenly a lump in his throat and a flutter in his chest that he decided was a normal reaction when worrying about a friend.

 _Frien_ d? Dorian paused in the middle of the sidewalk and considered. Yes. He did consider Anders a friend even if they had only known each other a short time. There was just a warmth about Anders that invited affection. Dorian smiled at the thought and kept walking.

Varric met Dorian at the main gate and lead him through to a side door and into a cellar. Hawke was waiting, lounging on a crate stamped with the name of one of the better Orlesian vineyards. He hopped up when he noticed them, setting down a glass of wine.

“I’ll leave the door to the tunnel unlocked. The cellar can be unlocked from the inside without a key, so don’t worry about that. Though I’d appreciate it if you’d knock on the front door and let us know when you’re back so someone can lock up behind you.” Hawke tossed a small bag to Dorian and grinned. “Snacks.”

Dorian peeked inside and found a flask and some chocolate bars. He raised a brow at Hawke but said only, “Thanks.” He was sorely tempted to break into the flask right away. He hoped it was some of the wine. Maybe it would calm his nerves.

Varric opened a hidden panel behind a shelf and motioned Dorian through.

“Call or text if you encounter any problems. And let us know as soon as you’re back. Just bring Anders right to my place, I’ll have a room ready.” Varric patted Dorian on the arm. “Good luck.”

“It’s bad luck to say good luck,” Dorian quipped as he stepped into the dark tunnel. He took in a deep breath and called to life a small magelight, sending it to bop along ahead of him. The tunnel was lined with old river stones. The air was damp and smelled of mildew.

Dorian let the breath out and squared his shoulders.

“Right. Off to rescue the princess. ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta's addition to the last line: "And her cat! Don't forget the cat. Anders will be an a-paw-plectic a-paw-state if Dorian forgets the cat!"
> 
> Also blame my beta for the moments of angst. 
> 
> Finally! Fenris! He will reappear, it wasn't a one-shot and done. Promise. ;)
> 
> If you haven't been able to tell yet, I've totally made Varric head of the Kirkwall gang instead of Hawke... I just felt they needed an adult... which I guess would actually be Aveline. :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders unexpectedly encounters Dorian in Darktown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: My working title for this chapter was "Pain" until I figured out where it fell in the story.  
> There is some violence, a non-major death, and a tiny bit of PTSD. 
> 
> It isn't as bad as it sounds and it's only the first 3rd of the story... If it's something that would bother you leave a comment or reach out to me on Tumblr (@geekelfie) and I can send you an edited version. :D
> 
> Also, this chapter might be my longest one yet. I know they've been getting longer but I think we'll be back on track after this one.

Lirene locked the clinic door as the last patient left.

“Well, that was a fun day. If you don’t require anything else, I think I’ll head home. I can tidy up in the morning.”

“Of course, Lirene. Thank you for all your help today.” Anders nodded and waved his hand toward the door. “Go get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Alone in the clinic, he collapsed into the nearest chair. Placing Darktown under quarantine had done exactly what Anders thought it would – cause chaos. The local gangs had all but rioted, resulting in the clinic being filled with broken bones and stab wounds. Anders had exhausted his energy stores long before he ran out of patients. He could feel the throb and stab of a headache forming behind his eyes. Draining all his mana always left him feeling like he had a raging hangover. He contemplated simply curling onto an exam bed and sleeping it off in the clinic. _I need to go feed Pounce_.

The downside of having a feline companion was that he needed to actually go home every night. He pushed himself to his feet and the world swam. He groaned and gripped the chair to keep from falling as black spots clouded his vision.

Realizing he wasn’t capable of taking the stairs to the second floor of the building, Anders stumbled to the locked cabinet at the back of the clinic. He fumbled with the combination lock and had to try twice before it clicked open. A myriad of bottles, vials, and syringes greeted him. He drew his finger along one shelf, stopping at a blue vial about the size of his thumb. He contemplated it and counted out the remaining bottles. They were running low on lyrium.

Lyrium was hard to come by without a Circle license. Impossible, if you wanted to get it legally. Expensive when you didn’t. He made a mental note to ask Hawke to see if he could source more.

Anders’ hand shook, and he nearly spilt the lyrium when he lifted the vial to his lips. He downed the blue liquid quickly then settled into a chair with a deep sigh. The clinic’s fluorescent lights were doing nothing for his headache, so Anders closed his eyes as he waited for the lyrium to work. His eyes felt scratchy and burned like when he had a fever. Anders’ body was clearly making its exhausted state known. He dozed, his body’s exhaustion overpowering his mind. 

A wave of nausea and a feeling of intense emptiness jolted him awake. He was disoriented and his heart rate and breathing were racing out of control.

_Am I having a panic attack? Why now?_

He didn’t remember having a nightmare and normally lyrium made his dreams more vivid, so it seemed unlikely he would have forgotten one. His eyes darted around the back room like a feral animal's. It was hard to tell over the thudding in his ears, but the clinic seemed quiet. Deserted. Exactly as it had been when he dozed off.

“Deep breathes. Take deep breathes.” Anders mumbled to himself and tried to follow his own directions, the mantra part of his control process. He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, drawing on his mana to cool his fingers.

Nothing.

Anders dropped his arm and stared at his fingers. He tried creating a magelight.

Nothing.

“Oh shit.” He swallowed a lump in his throat, hands shaking. That was the empty feeling.

A Cleanse.

But why?

The clinic remained quiet, no Templars bursting through the doors to arrest Anders. He wasn’t surprised they were this deep into Darktown considering the near riot the gangs had incited, but if there was a Cleanse, they must have encountered a mage… and that mage was now defenceless.

Ice flowed through Anders’ veins. He forced down the panic and focused on the budding anger.

Exhaustion and fear buried by fury, Anders snatched up the wooden pole he kept near the clinic’s entrance – he refused to call it a staff, as that was just too stereotypical – before stepping onto the darkened sidewalk in front of the clinic. He paused and listened. If he could feel the effects of the Cleanse, they had to be nearby.

A harsh laugh broke the silence. “No one is going to question the death of a blood mage killed for resisting arrest during the Darktown riots.” A rough voice, tinged with disgust echoed from an alley across the street. “You were in the wrong place, at the wrong time, apostate.”

Moving quietly, Anders crossed the empty street. He pressed against the wall and peeked into the alley. It was too dark to make out details, but he could see a man, back to him, standing partway down the alley. The Templar. Huddled on the ground was another form. The mage was attempting to shuffle back but had hit the wall of the building lining the alley. Bile burned Anders’ throat.

“I am not…” A wet cough broke off the strained words. “…a blood mage…”

The Templar hunched and the mage on the ground cried out. Anders heard flesh connect with flesh. He was frozen in place by flashbacks to his own experiences at the hands of Templars, knuckles white around his weapon. A small part of his brain was urging him to move, but his feet wouldn’t listen.

“You think that’s going to matter? No one will know what you were.” The Templar spat on the ground before hauling the mage up by his hair. “Though maybe… we can have a little fun first.”  

The mage was spun and pressed against the wall. One hand wrapped around the back of his neck, forcing his face into bricks. The Templar leaned in and murmured, just loud enough Anders could make out the words, “Stay still and I’ll take it easy on you.”

A broken cry reverberated through the alley. Anders’ cry.

Anger and fear tearing him free, Anders was suddenly able to move again. Instincts took over, the training from his time with the Wardens driving his actions. He charged the Templar, who released the mage and turned to confront his attacker.

Too slow.

The end of Anders’ staff connected with the side of the man’s head before he could raise an arm in defence. The Templar staggered back, giving Anders the space to twirl the staff and sweep his legs out from under him. The Templar hit the ground, the back of his skull striking the pavement hard. His body twitched and Anders brought the butt of the staff down into the Templar’s throat, crushing his windpipe with a wet crunch. He stood over the sprawled body, panting, staff posed to strike again. There was no need.

“Anders?” His name was scarcely more than a sob, but it broke through the pounding of blood in his ears. Lost to his own demons, Anders had forgotten the Templar’s victim. His whole reason for being there. He turned to look down on the abused mage and the staff clattered to the ground. 

“Dorian?” It came out a broken whisper as he stared at the bruised face before him, not believing his eyes. “Dorian!” Anders fell to his knees and gathered the beaten man into his arms.

Dorian grunted and Anders loosened his hold. He leaned back to examine him in the dim light of the alley. He could see blood dripping from a wound above his eyebrow, and his lip was swollen and split. There were tears streaming down Dorian’s cheeks, mingling with the blood. His breathing sounded off, and Anders wondered if the Templar had broken a rib.

“Where is he?” Dorian tried to shift out of Anders’ arms in a dazed attempt to find the Templar.

“He’s gone,” Anders said, his voice picking up strength when the anger returned. “For good.”

Anders hadn’t actually checked for vital signs but he knew that if the Templar wasn’t dead yet he would be shortly. Between the head wound and the broken bones in his face, he wasn’t likely to come back from it without extensive healing magic. Magic he wasn’t going to receive.

“Your Templars have powers,” Dorian barked a joyless laugh, which was followed immediately by a wet cough. “I thought… those were fairy…stories,” he trailed off, his breathing laboured.

“Sadly, no. Quite real. And they have a habit of making sure we southern mages don’t forget it.” Anders used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the tears, blood, and dirt streaking Dorian’s face. “Tevinter Templars don’t have abilities?”

Dorian snorted then cringed. “Not in the least.” He reached up and gingerly pressed his fingers along the bridge of his nose. Whatever he found made him frown. 

As carefully as he could manage, Anders helped Dorian to stand. He grabbed the fallen staff with one hand and hooked his other arm under Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian seemed to favour his right side. He wobbled and fell heavily against Anders; Anders took the weight.

With slow, careful steps the two made their way out of the alley. Anders stopped at the lip of the alley to listen. When he heard no signs of anyone else, he escorted Dorian across the road. He contemplated taking Dorian into the clinic as the stairs would be a nightmare to traverse… but if the Templar was found they’d go there first. Reluctantly, he took Dorian around the side of the building to take him to his apartment. He lingered at the stairs, looking down at Dorian half draped on his arm.

“Do you think you can take the stairs?” He asked.

“Those are nothing. You should see the stairs in the tower of Minrathous.” Dorian coughed, blood splattering the ground in front of him.

Taking more of Dorian’s weight, Anders guided him up the stairs. They had to stop twice, but they made it. Anders used his shoulder and elbow to get the door open and guided Dorian in. He immediately walked him to the bathroom at the back of the apartment and settled him on the toilet seat.

“I’m going to clean you up a bit so I can get a look at the damage. Are you able to take your shirt off?”

Dorian seemed to hesitate. His fingers brushed over the buttons of his ruined shirt but couldn’t quite grasp them. Three fingers on his left hand were swollen and bruised. Anders frowned and gently took the hands in his, moving them aside.

“Here. Let me.” He worked quickly to undo the buttons and gingerly slid the shirt and ~~his~~ jacket from Dorian’s shoulders. Anders was unable to suppress a gasp.

Dorian’s left side was already a giant bruise. It extended from under his armpit to his navel. _Definitely broken ribs_. When the shirt was a mass on the floor, Anders ran water into the tub. He waited until it was warm before wetting his first towel. He set the damp cloth on Dorian’s cheek, letting it soften the dried blood

Anders could feel Dorian’s jaw clenching under his ministrations. He lightened his touch, trying as much as possible to keep from causing pain.

“Just a little more. I just need to see what I’m working with.” Anders took in the gashes deep enough to require stitches, the bones that required setting… His magic was slowly returning, but he knew he didn’t have the strength to fix everything. Not yet. He drew his fingers lightly over the abrasions on Dorian’s cheek, left there by the rough brick. Anders wished he could kill the Templar all over again for marring Dorian’s beautiful face.

Even bruised and bloody, Dorian was still the most gorgeous person Anders knew. One eye was disappearing behind swelling but the other somehow still glittered and teased.

“If I had to see a doctor, at least I got a handsome one,” Dorian murmured with a smirk. Only the right side of his face really moved with the gesture, but it was enough. Anders blushed and rolled his eyes.

“Stay still. I need to get all the dirt out of these wounds before I can heal them.”

“Right. Can’t have my beautiful face ruined by some alley dirt.”

Three cloths later, the blood was mostly gone. There was some still matting Dorian’s hair but it could wait until he showered. Anders escorted Dorian out to the bed and guided him to lay down.

“Do you mind if I…?” He gestured at Dorian’s pants. He knew Dorian would be unable to bend to remove them without potentially causing more damage to the broken rib.

“This isn’t how I imagined you undressing me,” Dorian said with a smirk.

It was hard to believe the man could flirt while laying battered and after nearly being… _No_. Anders refused to even think about that. He made quick work of Dorian’s shoes, pants, and socks. He left his briefs. His movements were entirely professional, even with Dorian having put images in his head. Lovely images that did amazing things for his mood.

“I’m going to heal the worst damage first. That cleanse did a number on my magic as well and I’m just getting it back now. I’m sure you can feel it too.” Anders set a hand lightly on the mass of bruising on Dorian’s chest. He closed his eyes and let the blue light of the magic fill the room. He heard Dorian gasp when the magic started to work. Anders worked to set and fuse the broken rib bones. He took away the worst of the bruising and inflammation but left some for the body to heal on its own. He needed the energy for other injuries.

Next were the damaged fingers. Two were broken and one badly sprained. Anders held the hand gently between both of his, again working to heal the worst of damage but leaving more superficial aspects to heal on their own. He could hear Dorian’s breathing levelling out now that the broken ribs were no longer pressing against his lungs.

“I don’t suppose you have anything left to heal my nose? I’m just not sure I’m the type to pull off the bent-nose, brawler look. I’m much too pretty.” Dorian laughed, and it was the first normal sound Anders had heard from him that evening.

Continuing to hold Dorian’s hand between his, rubbing a thumb in gentle circles over his knuckles, Anders looked up and smiled.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” he said, moving one hand up to gently brush it over Dorian’s nose and then the split lip. “But if you insist, I should be able to manage it in a moment.”

Anders left his hand resting on Dorian’s cheek, avoiding the swollen bruise under his left eye. He searched his face and asked, “What were you doing out there? How did you even get into Darktown?” There was more concern in his voice than he’d intended, the crushing sensation around his heart forcing a tightness into his voice.

“Well, I came to rescue you, of course.” Dorian tried one of his signature smirks but it quickly became a grimace as the movement pulled on his split lip and compressed the bruise on his cheek. “Swooping in to sweep you off your feet and ferret you secretly away from the evil Templars.”

“That clearly worked exceptionally well. Whose bright idea was this? Hawkes?” Anders couldn’t help a small laugh.

“Varric’s.” Dorian suddenly removed his hand from Anders’ and pushed himself up to lean against the headboard. “We had it all worked out. Get in, grab you, get out. I even dressed the part of the rogue. I looked very dashing before the alley ruined everything.”

“I never thought of myself as a damsel in distress who needed rescuing. I told Varric I was fine.” Anders sighed and shook his head. “I appreciate that he cares but… really? Sending _you_ here? He clearly didn’t even tell you what you were getting into. Your healing is coming out of his Wicked Grace winnings.”

“To be fair to Varric, he tried sending Fenris first. The... disturbing elf just refused.”

“Fenris?!” Anders groaned and rubbed a hand across his face. “Just what an on-edge quarantine zone like Darktown needs – a violent, volatile, walking weapon. Varric is losing winnings just for thinking that was a good idea. What happened? No. Let me guess… Fenris told him to let me catch the Blight and die?”

“Not in so many words… But yes. That seemed to be the sentiment.”

“Typical.” Anders called on his healing and found it mostly returned, though his mana stores were running low again. He contemplated running down and grabbing another lyrium potion from the clinic. Perhaps once he had Dorian properly settled.

Fingertips glowing blue, Anders drew his hand gently across Dorian’s face. He started with the nose, setting it before decreasing the swelling. From there he mended the cracks in Dorian's cheek and the bone above his eye, and then down to his lip. The split of his lip was superficial, but it felt important to fix every imperfection marring Dorian’s handsome face.

“Would you like to take a shower? You should be able to move without too much discomfort or causing further damage.”

Dorian shifted on the bed. He bent from side to side and then arched back to test his mobility. “Well I’m not sleeping with blood and dirt in my hair, that’s for sure.”

Anders tried to maintain his professional composure, but now that the bruises were receding, it was hard not to stare at shifting muscles of Dorian’s bare chest and abdomen. His eyes trailed down from his clavicle, following the groove between Dorian’s pectorals and abdominals, marvelling at the lack of hair. He wondered if that was natural or if Dorian spent hours to look like that. The muscles were definitely the result of a great deal of time put into looking perfect. And it was perfect. Anders caught himself as his eyes hit the trail of fuzz below Dorian’s navel and quickly looked up. Right into Dorian’s twinkling grey eyes and a smirk.

“Don’t stop on my account.” Dorian stretched out, this time purposefully moving to show off his body. Anders swallowed and felt his cheeks flush. He stood quickly, hitting his hip on the corner of the dresser in his attempt to back away from the bed.

“I’ll go grab you a fresh towel,” Anders said as he rushed out of the alcove.

He stood just out of view for a moment, taking a deep breath. After the apathy and melancholy he had been suffering, the sudden rush of lust and…. something else… was throwing him off kilter. He couldn’t process the feelings and instead of being able to enjoy that fact the Dorian was very clearly okay with him looking and was even flirting with him, Anders felt himself spiralling into anxiety. He took two deep breaths before going to a drawer in the kitchen and pulling out a black towel. Most of his towels were black so he didn’t have to see the blood that was wiped off after a long day in the clinic. It would serve well in this situation as well.

The shower was on and the bathroom door open when he returned and he knocked on the door jam, purposefully not looking into the room. “Can I come in?”

There was the sound of the rustling shower curtain before Dorian spoke: “You can even join me if you want.”

 _Not helping_. Anders cleared his throat and entered the bathroom, setting the towel on the toilet seat. He could just make out Dorian’s silhouette behind the thin plastic curtain. It had never been intended for privacy, only to keep water from flooding the bathroom. Anders never had company. Or, on the rare occasions that he did, privacy was the last thing on his mind.

“I’ve left a towel on the toilet. Feel free to use any of the products in there. If you start feeling weak, just sit down and call me. I’ll just be in the kitchen,” Anders said and practically fled back out of the room. He went straight to the kettle in the kitchen, filled it with water and set it on the stove to boil.

 _Get your shit together. That man has just been assaulted and you’re struggling to keep it in your pants. The fuck, Anders?_ He knew some of it had to do with the adrenaline from earlier, as well as the sudden return of feeling _anything_. He’d been able to focus while healing Dorian but now that he was free to think…He was struggling to keep from picturing Dorian naked in his shower, but at the same time wanting to break into tears from relief and fear after what he had witnessed in the alley. It was too much.

Pounce appeared at his feet, rubbing back-and-forth against his shins and purring. It was amazing how the cat always knew when Anders needed him. While he waited for the kettle to boil or for Dorian to finish in the shower, Anders scooped the cat up and hugged him close to his chest.

“You’re such a good cat, Ser Pounce-a-lot. You take such good care of your daddy.” He nuzzled the top of the cat’s head. “Can you take care of daddy’s friend? He could use some of your healing magic as well.”

Anders was more serious with that comment than most people would think. There were studies that showed the frequency of a cat’s purr actually did help with healing. Plus, Pounce was an extraordinary cure for emotional distress, and after the encounter in the alley, Anders was sure Dorian wasn’t as stable as his joking made it seem. He wondered if Dorian handled trauma and uncomfortable situations the same way he himself did – by turning it into a joke.

The kettle screeched on the stove and Anders quickly dropped Pounce before he earned some chest wounds of his own. He was just pouring water into two mugs of calming tea when Dorian wandered into the main living area.

“I don’t suppose you have something I can borrow?” Dorian said and gestured to the towel wrapped around his waist. He padded into the kitchen, his movements were steadier than the walk from the alley, but Anders could see he was struggling. He weaved a bit as if drunk.

“Of course.” Anders grabbed one of the mugs and guided Dorian back toward the bedroom. “You shouldn’t be wandering around. Most of your wounds are healed but your body still needs rest. Magical healing isn’t…” Anders wanted to say _magic_ but that was definitely not right “…a complete substitute for your own body.”

“I can take the couch,” Dorian protested when they reached the bed. Anders used gentle pressure on his shoulder to force Dorian down.

“Or you could take the slightly more comfortable bed. I can take the couch.” Anders set the tea on the bedside table then pulled a t-shirt and a pair of light bottoms from a drawer and handed them over. “Likely not up to your usual standards - those or the bed – but they should do.” He pursed his lips as he eyed Dorian critically, forcing himself to keep his eyes above the curve of his hip. “Hopefully they fit. We’re not quite the same size.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Dorian said. Although, the look on his face belied his words. He was eyeing the cat shirt as if the image might actually jump out at him. Anders couldn’t help but smile.

“I’ll leave you to change. I’m going to pop downstairs and make sure I locked the clinic, but I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” At the look of concern on Dorian’s face, he said, “Promise. If I’m not back in 10, you can call Varric and demand he sends Fenris. Deal?”

Dorian smiled and nodded. “Deal.”

Anders left Dorian sitting on his bed and headed down to the clinic. He could feel exhaustion about to hit him, which caused him to pick up the pace more than his promise to Dorian.

In his rush out the door, he had not, in fact, locked the clinic door. Not that there was much beyond his medications to steal but given the current tensions in Darktown he wasn’t taking any chances. Getting new supplies was going to be difficult.

When he arrived back in his apartment, it was silent. There was no quip when he shut the door. As he listened, he heard a small snore from his bedroom.

_Good, he’s sleeping._

Anders peeked around the screen separating his bedroom from the rest of the loft. Dorian was curled up on his side, hugging a pillow. Settled in against his stomach was Pounce, taking his job of caring for Dorian very seriously. Pounce lifted his head and blinked slowly at Anders. He stood and walked in a small circle before curling back up, pressed closer to Dorian.

Backing away quietly, Anders went to arrange the couch. He settled into sleep, wrapped in the little throw blanket, and smiled, the image of Dorian and Pounce curled up together pushing away the image of a Templar in a dark alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't so bad right? It even ended on a cute note... and to make it even better: [kittenmarsh](https://kittenmarsh.tumblr.com) on tumblr did [amazing art of Anders](https://kittenmarsh.tumblr.com/post/171974177503/fanart-for-geekelfies-andersdorian-fic-tainted) and his shirt from Chapter 5! Go look at it. Do it. Do it now.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this week. Woo! Also, shorter chapter.

The fog of sleep clouded his thoughts and he couldn’t remember where he was. There was a static pressure on his chest. Why was… Dorian’s heart started to race and his breath caught in his throat as the events of the night before suddenly flooded back. Choppy snippets like a badly cut movie: popping out of the tunnel into Darktown right into a group of residents; Fade Stepping around a group of guards into an alley; the Templar in the alley; feeling of emptiness; pain; Anders…

 _Anders_.

Dorian took in two deep breaths to steady himself before cracking open his eyes. He blinked, the sunlight too bright. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he became aware of two green eyes blinking back at him from the centre of his chest.

“Kaffas!” Dorian sat up, knocking a rusty-orange coloured ball of fur onto the ground. “What the…” As his brain kicked into gear he remembered Anders mentioning a cat. Gushing over a cat might be more accurate. Dorian shuffled up to sit with his back against the headboard just as Anders appeared from behind the screen that separated the bedroom from the rest of the apartment.

“Dorian? Are you all right?” Anders squinted at him, slowly looking him over.

Slightly embarrassed by panicking over a cat, Dorian scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Quite fine. Your miniature tiger just took me by surprise.”

“Tiger?” Anders laughed and walked over to the bed and settled on the edge next to Dorian’s knee. “I hope Pounce didn’t hear that. There will be no living with him.”

That hope was dashed when Pounce hopped back onto the bed and walked to sit near Dorian’s leg, opposite Anders. Dorian looked from Anders to the cat, offering Pounce a small smile. “Sorry for throwing you off the bed like that, little guy.” He held out a hand palm down, for Pounce to sniff. Pounce obliged, and Dorian felt the cool, damp brush of the cat’s nose and a puff of air across his skin.

“Sadly, he’s pretty used to it,” Anders said as he stretched an arm across Dorian’s legs and gave Pounce a scratch at the base of his tail. The cat arched into the touch and made a small trilling noise. Dorian smiled at it and reached out to add to the pets, giving Pounce a scratch behind his ears.

“Still, it is a poor houseguest who throws their host off of…” Dorian glanced at Anders pointedly, “Or out of, their own bed.”

“And it is a poor doctor who makes their patient sleep on an ancient couch.” Anders gave Dorian a small, lopsided smile. “And a poor host who doesn’t offer their guest a warm beverage. Are you a coffee person or tea person?” Anders asked as he pushed off the bed.

“Coffee if you have it.” Dorian couldn’t believe how tired he still felt when, based on the sun, it had to be nearly noon. He shifted to get out of bed but Anders shot him a look.

“You should continue to rest. Your body took a lot of damage and while I healed the worst of it, your body still needs to recover. I told you that last night.”

“Unless you’re going to resort to bedpans, I really do need to get up,” Dorian said and arched a brow at Anders, half expecting him to pull one of the metal trays from a drawer. Thank the Maker, he did not. Anders backed up and gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine,” he huffed, “I suppose I can let you up for a few minutes. But after that, back to bed with you. Pounce,” Anders pointed at the cat, “Make sure Dorian goes right back to bed after he comes out of the bathroom.” Anders wandered out toward the kitchen, leaving Dorian with Pounce to supervise him.

Dorian gave the cat a bemused look. “How much of what he tells you do you really understand?”

Pounce gave Dorian a _mrrt_ in response. It made Dorian a bit uncomfortable that the cat actually _did_ seem to understand. Dorian twisted on the bed to get up and winced. He looked down at his chest; at the ridiculous cat shirt Anders had lent him and smiled. _Such an odd man_. Moving gingerly, he pulled up the shirt and examined his chest. There was still a bit of bruising, though nothing to suggest the savage beating he’d taken.

“I don’t suppose you have the mana to finish this healing job of yours? You appear to have missed some spots,” Dorian hollered from the bedroom, tone playful.

“I don’t suppose you could learn a basic healing spell and do it yourself?” Anders countered from the other room. Dorian snorted a laugh and pushed to his feet. He wobbled for a moment, his body still wanting to favour his right side even though most of the damage had been healed.

“Necromancy and healing don’t really mix, my dear.” Dorian smiled, relaxing into the banter as he wandered to the bathroom.

He avoided the mirror on the first pass to the toilet but couldn’t avoid looking as he washed his hands. He used damp fingers to smooth and twist his moustache into something resembling its normal order; there wasn’t much he could do to tame it without wax. He eyed himself, looking over the areas he knew had been damaged: his nose, his cheek, and his lip. Anders may have left some bruises on his torso, but there wasn’t a mark left on Dorian’s face. Part of him was disappointed – to come away from the encounter without a battle scar somehow seemed wrong. _Though_ , Dorian considered as he ran a finger over the previously broken cheek, _would I want to be reminded of that night every time I looked in the mirror?_

A chill ran through him. The feeling of the Cleanse had been the worst part. He’d experienced physical pain before but to be completely stripped of mana? There had been a void inside of him like an organ had been ripped out. Without magic, he had felt helpless as a kitten. One of Tevinter’s most adept mages and he’d been helpless as a child. That was a feeling he’d happily go the rest of his life without experiencing again. He sneered at his reflection, rolling his shoulders back. _That won’t happen again._

Wandering back into the bedroom, Dorian searched for his jacket. He found his things in a pile in the far corner as if Anders had tried to hide them. Dorian raised an eyebrow at that. Did Anders think he’d freak out when he saw the blood on his stuff? Thoughtful but completely unnecessary. Dorian picked up the leather jacket and frowned. Or, unnecessary for that particular reason. Dorian ran a hand over the torn and bloody sleeve of his practically brand new jacket. It had been a rather expensive purchase given his minuscule funds; Varric _had_ actually advanced his wages. 

“Fasta vass,” Dorian muttered, “I should send a bill to the Chantry. Or Circle. Or whomever officially employs the Templars here.” He huffed and dug through one of the pockets for his cell phone. “Oh, for the love of…Ugh!” Dorian tossed the jacket back into the corner and sat heavily on the edge of the bed.  

Cracks ran through the phone’s glass screen like a web. Dorian ran a finger carefully over the screen and scowled. _Definitely sending them a bill_. The screen wouldn’t light up no matter what Dorian did and he chucked the phone onto the pile of his clothing. With a defeated sigh, he pulled back the blankets and curled back up in bed as instructed by his doctor. The thought of Anders’ care the night before made Dorian smile. A small, thoughtful smile.

Pounce had curled up in the middle of the bed and made it impossible for Dorian to stretch out or lay his whole body on the bed without disturbing the cat. Dorian shuffled under the blankets, gently nudging the cat over until he had enough space. Pounce lifted his head and blinked at Dorian but didn’t show any sign of actually moving of his own volition.

“Stubborn, aren’t we?” Dorian said and ran his hand lightly down the cat’s back. “I think we might just get along.” Pounce’s fur wasn’t as soft as he’d expected. Instead, it was thick and had a coarse, wiry feel to it. Dorian scratched his nails at the base of Pounce’s tail as he’d seen Anders do and was rewarded with a purr. He closed his eyes, savouring the soothing rumble. Pounce moved, uncurling and climbing into Dorian’s lap. Dorian could feel the tremors of the purr in his thighs and relaxed back against the headboard.

 _Coffee_. The fragrant, nutty smell reached Dorian’s nose and his stomach grumbled. There was something else as well, mostly overpowered by the coffee. Toast? Dorian opened his eyes to see if he could make out anything going on in the kitchen. When he did, a soft blue glow was the first thing he saw. A soft blue light coming from his… chest?

“Anders?” Dorian said hesitantly. His hand rested, unmoving, on Pounce’s back. The cat continued to purr at the light touch.

“Yes?” Anders called from the kitchen.

“Why is my shirt glowing?!” Dorian stared wide-eyed at the image on the shirt. It was of a curled-up cat who had, until moments before, been an orange tabby just like Pounce. Now it was a soft blue and was definitely radiating light. And warmth.

“Hmm?” Anders wandered into the area with a mug in one hand and a plate in the other. He didn’t seem concerned by Dorian’s confusion or the fact that he owned a shirt that _randomly started to glow._ The crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the quirk of his lips indicated he found it amusing.

“The shirt?” Dorian gestured at his chest and Anders laughed as he set the mug and plate of toast on the bedside table. “Why. Is it. G _lowing_?”

“Because Pounce is purring,” Anders said like it was obvious. For a second Dorian wondered if it should have been obvious and he’d taken more damage to his head than he’d realized… but no. That wasn’t a logical connection.

“I think I require a more comprehensive explanation. I fail to see the connection between a contented cat and a… magic?... t-shirt.” Dorian relaxed and reached for his coffee. With Anders’ nonchalance toward the shirt, Dorian accepted there was nothing to be concerned about. In fact, he was feeling more refreshed and contented as the minutes ticked by. He sipped the hot coffee, holding the mug between his hands. With no hand touching Pounce, the purring quieted.

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s an enchanted shirt.” Anders grinned at Dorian and rested his hip against the dresser. With Pounce’s purrs gone, the glow disappeared. “It’s a test product. A friend of Varric’s, Dagna, is a wizard with enchantments. We worked together to weave healing into everyday clothing. There are reports from the Dragon Age of enchanted armour and mage robes and if they could enchant robes, why not clothing for everyone else? What makes this shirt special is the ability to activate and conserve the magic for when needed.”

Anders’ face lit up as he rambled on about the mechanics of the shirt and the enchantment and the prospective uses.

“Just think – active healing magic at anyone’s fingertips. No more trips to the clinic to heal a minor burn or a headache. Magic serving everyone, not controlled by the Circle. Just as the Maker intended.”

Dorian couldn’t help but smile, he shifted the coffee to one hand to scratch Pounce again in the hope of bringing the magic back to life. “So, was the plan to hand out cats with each shirt? “Here’s your healing t-shirt, pick a cat pattern and you’ll get the matching cat.””

“Oh, that’s genius.”  Anders laughed and moved to the bed to pet Pounce as well, fingers brushing lightly against Dorian’s in the process. “But no. It isn’t the purr specifically. It’s the frequency. So, we could create a sound file with a purr or music with an undertone of the right frequency. Just picture it: a sick child laying uncomfortable and afraid in bed, their mother wraps them in the enchanted blanket and turns on some calming music. The blanket glows and warms and the child manages to fall asleep _and_ wakes up in the morning feeling better.”

“So, are you moving forward with the project? This one seems to work.” Dorian ran his fingers over the glowing cat on his chest, looking at it with a more critical eye now. He tried to feel the enchantment. Tried to tease out what they had done. It was impressive.

“Too expensive right now.” Anders sighed and shrugged. “It always comes down to money, doesn’t it? We just can’t get a hold of enough supplies. The Circle controls most of the enchantment materials. Like everything else.” The last was said with disgust, Anders’ nose wrinkling and lip curling.

 _So much for animated and happy Anders_. He’d learned that night in the cab that he liked the Anders that lit up when he talked – that night it had been Pounce, this morning it was using magic to help people. _He cares so much_. Dorian slid his hand from his chest and down along Pounce’s back. He brushed his fingertips along Anders’ knuckles before taking Anders’ hand in his. He slid his fingers between Anders’ and held the hand tightly. “Anders,” Dorian said softly and waited for Anders to stop being flustered at the Circle and look Dorian in the eyes. “ _Thank you_.”

“Thank…? For what?” Anders blinked at him, cheeks flushed light pink, but didn’t remove his hand from Dorian’s.

“Risking your life for mine? Exhausting yourself to heal me? Saving this beautiful face? Giving me your bed?” Dorian waved the coffee held in his other hand, “Bringing me coffee and food… and…” He started to trail off, not sure how to finish the sentiments. He hadn’t had much cause to be grateful to another person before – Felix aside. He released Anders’ hand and ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair. “And you should call Varric to let him know we’re both alive. He was expecting us back late last night, maybe early this morning and it’s, what, noon?”

“Mmm?” Anders just stared at Dorian for a moment, released hand hovering over Pounce’s back near where it had started prior to Dorian grasping it. He looked at Dorian and blinked. “What was that?”

“Call Varric? My phone is completely busted and he’s going to be wondering where we are. Let him know we’ll be there tonight.”

“ _We_ will not be.” Dorian was taken aback by the vehemence in Anders’ voice. “I am not going anywhere. I don’t know what Varric was thinking but if he really thought I’d leave Darktown now of all times, he doesn’t know me at all. He’d need to have that brute of an elf knock me unconscious and drag me out of here to get me to leave. ”

“I understand that but –“ Dorian began but was cut off.

“Feel free to take Hawke’s not-so-secret tunnel back to Varric and tell him I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well after what happened last night, I can’t imagine anyone will be all right with just leaving you here. It’s dangerous, Anders. You can’t help anyone dead or imprisoned.” Dorian leaned forward and grabbed Anders’ arm. He squeezed it before running his hand lightly up and down Anders’ bicep. “It’s not safe.”

Anders tensed under his touch and moved slightly. Not enough to pull away, but enough that Dorian took his hand back, not wanting to unset Anders. He was having trouble reading him. One minute he’d think they were flirting and Anders was interested, and the next he’d seem distant. Anders shifted on the bed, pulling a leg up and sitting on his foot. He grabbed Dorian’s hand, sandwiching it between both of his. He held it tightly, almost too tightly.

“I am needed. There’s no one else here. And you wanted to help cure the Blight, well, what better place to do that than in a quarantine zone?” Anders leaned forward, eyes bright and shimmering with moisture. “Help me fix this.”

“This is not your fault, Anders.” Dorian’s concern over Anders’ reaction to Peter’s death and the quarantine returned. Anders was too invested.

“Perhaps not. But if I sat by and did nothing, that would be my fault. Any deaths whether from disease, or riots, or overzealous Templars, would be on me.”

Dorian considered Anders for a moment, stretching his free arm out to set his coffee down on the small table. “No. They wouldn’t be,” Dorian said. He used his free hand to brush hair from Anders’ face, his thumb catching the start of a tear. “But the fact that you believe that makes you a most miraculous person.”

Before Anders could mount a response, Dorian wrapped his hand in Anders’ hair and pressed at the back of his head to pull him forward. The kiss was neither passionate nor chaste. Dorian pressed his lips firmly to Anders’, holding him still for a moment. Dorian’s lips and cheeks suddenly felt like they were burning up. His fingers tingled and there was a rolling, fluttering in his chest and stomach. Dorian was no stranger to kissing another man, but it had been a long time since it had been anything but a fleeting act of lust during a rushed tryst. It had been a long time since his stomach flipped when another man kissed him back.

Dorian was caught off guard when Anders suddenly relaxed into the kiss. They both fell heavily back against the headboard, Pounce jumping to the floor with a thud to avoid being crushed between Anders and Dorian. Anders released Dorian’s hand and wrapped his arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

They stayed wrapped in the shared warmth and desire until Anders shifted just the wrong way and hit one of Dorian’s remaining bruises. Dorian tried to hide the wince. But Anders noticed. He pulled back with a breathless laugh.

“I’m a horrible doctor. I tell you to rest. Then I’m practically pinning you to the bed to…” Dorian silenced him with another kiss, though be pulled back after a moment.

“I’m still in bed, aren’t I? Isn’t that all the matters? Nothing I do while in bed counts against my getting rest.” He grinned. “Though if you’re truly concerned, I can just let you do all the work.”

Anders snorted and sat up. “You should eat and I should call Varric before he sends Fenris to ferret us out.”

“Both those things can wait a little longer. I think _I_ need the doctor’s attention right now.” Dorian wrapped his arms around Anders’ waist and pulled him back down, careful to shift so there was no pressure against his bruise this time.

Anders laughed as he was pulled in. “Well, doctors should listen to their patients’ needs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly light and fluffy and a bit ridiculous. But this chapter definitely matters... also... remember the slow burn tag? 12. It took 12 chapters and over 39000 words.
> 
> Sorry. 
> 
> Maybe now the boys can focus on their tasks... in an hour.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Anders embrace their budding relationship and life must go on at the clinic.

The warmth of Dorian’s body and the pressure of his embrace was a balm Anders hadn’t realized he needed. He closed his eyes tightly and pressed his lips to Dorian’s, using desire to push down the other emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him. He wrapped his arms under the small of Dorian’s back, holding him close.

Anders licked over Dorian’s lips but when he pressed forward, trying to slip his tongue between Dorian's lips, Dorian resisted. Anders pulled back, searching Dorian’s face for a sign he’d done something wrong.

Realizing the confusion, Dorian laughed breathlessly. He pulled Anders in for a quick kiss. “I haven’t brushed my teeth,” he said with a lopsided grin.

“Oh.” Anders blinked, momentarily confused, before laughing as well. He leaned so his lips brushed against Dorian’s as he spoke, “I don’t care.”

He darted his tongue out, drawing it along Dorian’s lower lip. When Dorian still resisted, Anders took the lip between his teeth and bit down gently.

Dorian moaned but instead of relenting, he pressed forward. He slid his tongue along Anders’ upper lip until Anders released his hold on Dorian’s lower one. Dorian immediately slipped his tongue into Anders’ mouth.

Anders twined his legs with Dorian’s, gripping Dorian’s hips tightly with his hands. He rolled over onto his back, pulling Dorian with him, so that Dorian ended up on top, removing the risk of Anders pressing on a remaining bruise.

Dorian’s hand was tangled in Anders’ hair, every tiny tug sending a shiver down Anders’ spine. Anders slid his left hand under Dorian’s shirt, keeping to his uninjured side. Dorian arched into the touch and moaned, the sound a soft vibration against Anders’ lips. Anders kissed his way from Dorian’s lips, along the edge of his jaw to his ear. Dorian tilted his head, allowing Anders easier access as his lips closed on an earlobe. Dorian slipped his fingers under the edge of Anders’s shirt. He drew them lightly along the waist of Anders’ pants, sliding them under the edge in light, teasing strokes. Anders kissed down along Dorian’s neck, nipping to hold back a moan.

Taking a break from his teasing, Dorian tugged at the hem of Anders’ shirt. Anders sat up to aid Dorian in removing his shirt, then quickly followed the example and pulled Dorian’s shirt off in return. 

The heat from Dorian’s skin pressed against his own was too much and Anders let out a choked moan. He spread his legs, making room for Dorian to slot a leg between them and press closer. He needed more. He suddenly needed to feel every inch of Dorian’s skin.

Any calm Anders had was gone. He ran his nails down Dorian’s bare back, relishing in the shiver that earned. The light sleep pants he’d lent Dorian made it easy for Anders to slip his hands under the waistband and squeeze Dorian’s ass. That earned a low grunt and Dorian pressed down, making Anders gasp.

There was an urgency by both men. Their pants quickly followed the shirts and Anders twisted his legs with Dorian’s again, simply to feel skin on skin. In the back of his mind he knew they should slow down. That this could be a result of the trauma they’d both experienced. That in an hour they might regret this and it would have ruined the budding friendship between them…

There was a sudden, loud banging on the front door followed by Lirene’s muffled shouting. “Anders! Are you in there? Anders, are you okay?”

Anders froze, lips against Dorian’s neck. It took a moment for his brain to process what was happening and when it did…

“Andraste’s Knickerweasels,” Anders mumbled against Dorian’s skin and sighed. He shifted and rolled Dorian off his lap as he yelled back. “I’m fine, Lirene!”

“Andraste’s Knickerweasels?” Dorian asked quietly with a small laugh. Anders didn’t have time to respond beyond a grin. He knew Lirene wasn’t going to walk back downstairs just because he said he was fine. She never believed him and if someone had found that Templar… He grabbed up the first pants he could reach, which happened to be the sleep pants. As he darted toward the door he glanced down and realized the thin pants did _nothing_ to hide his erection. He groaned and altered his direction – aiming for the kitchen island.

Lirene was opening the door as Anders moved to put the island between them, blocking sight of what he’d rather Lirene didn’t see. Not that he’d need to worry about that much longer with the mood so rudely interrupted.

The look of worry on Lirene’s face confirmed his suspicions. She knew about the Templar. How could she not?

“Why do you even bother having a phone? You don’t seem to answer it anymore so why pretend we can get hold of you when we need to?” Lirene railed but Anders could tell it was because she’d been worried. He’d been giving her cause for that a lot the last week. It was unfair.

“I’m sorry, Lirene. Truly. There was an emergency last night and this morning I just got caught up in something and didn’t think to let you know everything was all right.”

“Didn't think seems to be the truth of it. That was you, wasn’t it?” Lirene was nearly shouting.

Anders knew her anger wasn’t really directed at him, so he let her shout. He moved over to the stove to grab the kettle.

“They found…” Lirene took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. When she started again, her voice was calm and even. “They found the dead Templar an hour ago. I’m sure someone had him found before that, but no one here would have reported it. What were you _thinking_? They’ve already been around asking questions. Thank the Maker you weren’t there. _Anders_ , how could you be so reckless?”

“I didn’t have much choice,” Anders said as he filled the kettle and set it to boil.

“How could you have not have had a choice? He clearly wasn’t in the clinic. There was no reason to –“

“I am afraid it was all my fault,” Dorian said as he stepped around the bedroom screen. He’d put on his dirty and damaged jeans, no doubt Anders’ discarded pants were too small. “Anders was simply coming to my rescue.”

“Lirene, you remember my friend Dorian. He visited the clinic last week.” Anders pulled two mugs from his cupboard which, in addition to the mug of coffee Dorian held in one hand, were about all the mugs he owned. “He had a run in with that Templar last night after you’d left for the evening.”

“Oh, Dorian,” Lirene murmured, looking him over. The dirt and tears and blood of Dorian’s jeans made him look the sympathetic character, and Lirene frowned. She glanced back at Anders. “You healed him, didn’t you? How are you even standing up right? You were exhausted when I left and to heal whatever that… that monster did…”

Anders smiled and walked around the island to embrace Lirene. He rested his chin on the top of her head and smiled. “That’s why we have lyrium. And I have more to me than it may look. You know that.” He pressed a light kiss against her hair. “Am I forgiven for not answering my phone?”

She seemed to consider for a moment, stepping back out of Anders’ embrace. “No. We have a clinic to run and I need to know I can contact my healer when I need to.” She looked between Dorian and Anders and gave them a knowing smile. “And if you’d answered your phone an hour ago, I might not have interrupted your… rest.”

There was no stopping the blush Anders could feel heating his cheeks and chest. He glanced at Dorian who didn’t show any sign of embarrassment and was instead, smirking. That smirk, the dishevelled hair and mussed up moustache, the twinkle in Dorian’s eyes… Anders flushed more and was relieved when the kettle squealed and he had to step back behind the kitchen island to finish making tea. 

“Do you need me downstairs, Lirene?” Anders asked as he handed her a mug.

“I do. Which is why I’m here. The gangs aren’t done taking advantage of the quarantine and we have injuries that are beyond my mundane abilities. I don’t think it will be as bad as yesterday but…” She once again eyed Anders critically, “If you need rest, just tell me. I’ve already triaged the patients we have so your skills will only be used for the worst cases.” She set down her tea on the kitchen island, untouched.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be right down.” Anders turned to head to the bedroom to put on proper clothing.

“No one is dying at the moment. Have something to eat and then come down. Just make sure you can hear your phone in case that changes.” Lirene gave his arm a squeeze before heading out, shutting the door quietly behind her.

“You see why I can’t just up and leave Darktown, right?” Anders turned back to the kitchen, picking up his mug to sip the tea.

“I do. But that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.” Dorian sighed and wrapped an arm around Anders’ waist. He pulled him into a light embrace, resting his cheek against Anders’. “If you will not leave Darktown, I suppose that means I just have to stay.”

Anders was surprised by the small gesture of affection. He’d already convinced himself that what had started between them was nothing but a need for comfort after the Templar. Instead, he found himself wrapped back in the warmth of Dorian’s body. The heat of Dorian’s skin on his was so strong he’d swear Dorian ran hotter than the average person. It was hard to pull away. Anders wanted to stay and forget the rest of the world existed… but he couldn’t. Especially not now. 

Reluctantly he slipped out the embrace. He turned, placed a light kiss on Dorian’s lips then turned to rummage in one of the cupboards.

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here,” Anders said as he pulled a loaf of bread out. He still hadn’t had the chance to shop and was living off left-overs Lirene or patients brought and toast.

Dorian huffed a derisive laugh. “Last night was an anomaly. I am perfectly capable of protecting both myself…” There was a gentle touch on Anders’ shoulder and then Dorian was snatching away the bread, “And you. Now go take a shower. I think I can manage toast.” He physically nudged Anders out of the way.

“Dorian…” Anders started though he wasn’t actually sure what he wanted to say. There was a jumble of thoughts and emotions and he didn’t have the time to tease them apart. Instead, he gave him a soft smile and nodded. “Try not to burn it.” Ander pecked a light kiss on Dorian’s cheek and padded away, almost afraid to see the reaction.

As he passed through the bedroom, he glanced over to the bed. The toast he had made for Dorian was sitting untouched on the nightstand. He smiled at that. Normally he’d be concerned about wasting even that much food, but the memory of _why_ it sat uneaten was enough.

By the time Anders had had a cursory shower and changed into clean jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, Dorian had a stack of toast sitting on the island. He’d set two little place settings in front of the barstools, with small plates, a butter knife, and their respective mugs. He’d even set out a jar of some berry jam Anders had forgotten he had. It was a homemade preserve from one of his patients. It was all so… domestic. Anders had to laugh. Dorian certainly hadn’t struck him as the domestic type.

Dorian glanced up from smearing jam on a piece of toast and smiled. “Breakfast is served.”

Anders settled on the empty stool, putting his phone down next to his plate and followed suit, quickly biting into his first piece. He’d thought the amount of toast Dorian had made – pretty much the entire loaf – was extreme but as his stomach rumbled he reconsidered. As was fairly consistent with him, Anders couldn’t remember when he had his last meal. And with the energy expended the day before, his body was probably surviving by eating what little muscle he had. Not good.

“Thank you,” Anders mumbled around his toast. 

They ate in silence, both devouring the food at a speed that would normally be considered ill-mannered. However, both mages had been tested the previous night and had energy stores to replenish. After he’d eaten four pieces of toast, Anders slid his phone over toward Dorian.

“Call Varric for me when you’re done eating. If I do it now, I’ll never make it down to the clinic. Explain what happened and that I am _not_ leaving.”

“Do you believe he will listen? He seemed determined to have one of us spirit you away from the dangers of the Templars.”

“He doesn’t really have a choice,” Anders said flatly.

He stood and wandered over to his bookcase, moving things until he found the notepad and pen he was looking for. He started scribbling a list as he walked back.

“Can you ask him to get Hawke on gathering supplies? I’m sure the Chantry is telling people they’re sending aid but we’ll never see it.” He set the notepad next to the cell phone. “I’ve underlined important items…” he pointed to bandages which was underlined, “…and starred essential ones.” He pointed to lyrium, which had a star next to it. Dorian arched a brow at him but didn’t comment.

“Would you mind if I…” Dorian paused and frowned, looking down at his phone. He didn’t continue and Anders realized he likely wanted to be able to call his friend in Tevinter but that meant long distance charges.

“Call, text, email anyone you want. Don’t worry about it.” Anders smiled and squeeze Dorian’s shoulder.  “I should get down there.” He grabbed a last piece of toast as he rushed over to the door. “I’ll leave my keys up here. If you leave, lock up and pop by the clinic to let me know that’s what you’re doing. If I’m busy, just leave the keys with Lirene.”

Before Dorian could respond, Anders was through the door and bounding down the stairs while taking bites of toast.

 

Day two of quarantine had gone better than day one, but it was still after eleven when Anders closed the clinic. He’d sent Lirene home hours before, but the line of waiting patients seemed to have gone on forever. It was with a huge sigh of relief that Anders ushered his last broken arm out the door and flicked off the outside light. He did a superficial job of cleaning, quickly losing the energy required to do a proper job. Tomorrow.

After the incident with the Templar so close to the clinic, Anders drew on his small reserve of mana ~~as~~ when he stepped out the door to head back to his apartment. He didn’t call a magelight to illuminate his path, not wanting to run the risk of being spotted when tensions were already high. The streets were quiet but he refused to let his guard down until the door to the street shut behind him and he was ascending the stairs to his flat.

The apartment was dark and silent when he entered and he called his magelight to life once he was safely inside and the door was locked. Pounce appeared at his feet as he always did when Anders got home. Anders bent down and scooped up the cat.

“Where is our house guest? He didn’t pop by the clinic so…” Anders sent the light up and increased the glow. Pounce nuzzled against his chin and purred as Anders stroked his fur.

Anders walked quietly through the apartment to peak at the bed. It was empty. He frowned. Setting Pounce down, he walked back into the main room and looked around. He caught a glimpse of movement on the couch and grinned. Pounce wandered over ahead of him, jumping up and headbutting Dorian right in the nose.

“Mrmph,” Dorian grumbled and waved a hand at the cat. “I already fed you. Shoo. I’m trying to sleep.”

“Thank you for feeding him for me. That was very thoughtful,” Anders said from behind the couch, now close enough to see Dorian curled up, using his arm as a pillow.

“Oh! You’re back. So, Pounce was just trying to tell me to get up because the master of the house was back.” Dorian sat up and gave Pounce a scratch behind the ear. “Do you always get in so late?” He looked over his shoulder at Anders.

“Generally. Sometimes later. Rarely much earlier.” Anders took in the condition of Dorian and his coffee table. Both looked a bit unkempt. Dorian’s hair was a complete mess, his shirt – Anders was sad to see he’d put one on – was wrinkled and his moustache was sticking out in a dozen directions. The table was covered in papers. Most were hand-written notes but some were diagrams and vague sketches.

Like for a cat, curiosity normally won with Anders and this time was no exception. He moved around the sofa and picked up one of the drawings.

“What are these?” He considered it. There was something about it that looked familiar.

“Well, I was thinking about that blanket idea of yours and how we could apply it to the Blight.” Dorian ran a hand through his hair before scooping up another sheet of paper. He waved it at Anders as he’d done the articles that night in the clinics back room. “So, our biggest issue – assuming the Qunari medicine works to destroy the bacteria – is slowing down progression. So, if you can put healing magic into cloth…can we put time magic?”

The paper Dorian waved was full of equations Anders wasn’t sure he’d ever fully understand. Still… “Theoretically. I don’t see why not. So, we what…? Use enchantment to slow time around the person? That isn’t a long-term solution by any means.”

“Of course, it isn’t.” Dorian huffed as if he’d been insulted. “But even a few hours could make all the difference. Slow time around them, we slow the speed of progression. Short-term exposure to time magic does not _appear_ to have any negative side effects. Though aside from Gereon, it has not been tested in Ages.”

Anders hummed, considering the paper in his hand. He sat on the sofa next to Dorian and riffled through the papers on the table.

“So, blanket or t-shirt?” He asked and grinned at Dorian.

“T-shirt,” Dorian responded immediately. “Just not a cat this time.”

“No cat? But why?” Anders pouted dramatically.

Dorian laughed and leaned over to put a small kiss on Anders’ cheek. “Because I don’t want your cat shirt associated with something as negative as the Blight or evil Tevinter time magic,” Dorian said softly.

“Well, Dagna said pretty much anything will do. There just has to be a shape under which the enchantment rune is weaved. The cat just hides the arcane symbols that actually powers the healing enchantment. And whatever Dagna did to make it sound activated. Makes it more acceptable to non-mage users.” Anders shrugged. “We could just use the rune for slowing time – whatever that might be – and not worry about hiding it. Unless you have an image in mind.”

“Well since it is Tevinter magic, we could always use a snake,” Dorian smirked.

“Dagna would get a kick out of that. Symbolism and all that. She’ll love to study such an obscure school of magic. But we can’t let her know you’re a necromancer as well. She will _never_ stop asking you questions.”

Anders leaned against Dorian and yawned. He continued looking through Dorian’s work. There were dozens of pages of notes and diagrams. He’d obviously been busy during the hours Anders had left him alone.

“Do you have my phone? I should take photos of this and send it off to her right now. Get her started on figuring out what rune we’ll…need.” Anders yawned as he spoke. Dorian plucked the papers from Anders’ hands and set them back on the table.

“Tomorrow. I doubt there’s anything she could do tonight anyhow,” Dorian said and took Anders’ hands in his. “You need sleep. You’re burning the candle at both ends and you’re going to burn out.”

“Oh, you don’t know Dagna. She’d be up all night figuring this out just because she’ll need to do it to be able to sleep at night.” Anders resisted Dorian’s attempt to make him stand to which Dorian rolled his eyes.

“Another reason not to send anything off tonight. Come on. Bed.”

“I will take the couch again. You still need rest to recover and you’ll sleep better in the bed.” Anders slipped his hands from Dorian’s and pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa.

Dorian stared at him a moment, confusion playing over his face.

“Anders, we’ll both sleep better in the bed,” he sighed and reached down to slip his arms under Anders’ shoulders and hauled him up from the couch. Anders’ waist was quickly surrounded by Dorian’s arms and he found himself in a tight hug. Dorian rested his cheek on Anders’ shoulder and murmured, “I don’t know what you thought this morning was, but it wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment impulse that passed when the moment was gone. I still want whatever… this is.” Dorian kissed Anders’ cheek yet again. “And I would sleep better with you in that bed with me.”

“You know it’ll be me _and_ Ser Pounce-a-lot, don’t you?” Anders responded quietly, not quite able to meet Dorian’s eyes.

“It could be you and a dozen cats – I’d still want you there.” Dorian took Anders hands again and started guiding him to the alcove. “I do draw the line at a dozen, however.”

“Noted.” Anders laughed softly and followed Dorian to the bed. He felt his body fading quickly to exhaustion and he fumbled as he undressed. When he was finally curled on his side in the bed, Dorian wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him in close. He could feel Dorian’s breath warm on the back of his neck and his heartbeat steady against his back. Closing his eyes, he focused on the solid, warm body pressed against him.

Like that morning, the warmth and affection and knowledge that he was wanted washed over him. Exhaustion made everything feel rawer; emotions were closer to the surface and without something all-encompassing like lust to block them out. Anders couldn’t contain the shuddering sigh that accompanied the stinging sensation behind his eyelids. 

 Perhaps Dorian noticed. Perhaps he didn’t. If he did, he said nothing. But he did hold Anders just a bit tighter.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 The adorable boys in all their fluffy glory by [ lonicera-caprifolium on Tumblr ](https://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Hey. Look. More art. :D
> 
> I'm sorry. I'm sorry. If you want uninterrupted smut and haven't read it yet, I did write the fluffy smut piece for Valentine's day featuring these adorable squishes. So pop over to [A Taste of Tevinter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13680843) for less plot-oriented smuttiness. 
> 
> So there may not be a chapter posted next week. I apologize. I'll be out of town during most of my editing/posting time. All things being equal, we should be back to regular posts after that.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dagna gets Anders' and Dorian's email about the time magic.

“Widdle! There’s a email marked urgent here for ya!” Sera called from the other room, voice muffled by the thick wooden door to? Dagna’s workshop. “From… Anders? Wha kinda name is that? Isn’t that a nationality? Weirdo.”

“Oh!” Dagna responded and grinned. “Be right there!”

Anders always had the most interesting requests. No one else saw the potential in enchanting but he always had, even in the Circle.

Dagna set aside the small blowtorch and pushed up her goggles. There was banging and very colourful cursing as she meandered her way through the workshop, dodging sculptures and works-in-progress. She was still working on pulling off her gloves when she opened the door.

Sera was lounging on the worn sofa, a laptop propped on her knees. “Is up,” she said and pointed at the large television screen against the wall. Dagna flopped down next to Sera and scooped up the laptop so she could scroll through the email. She’d expected it to be about their last project – the enchanted shirt – and her excitement grew as she read through Anders’ proposal.

“Time magic!” Dagna squealed. Sera responded with a disgusted noise.

“Bloody magey-butts stickin’ their magic where it don’ belong. Ya shouldn’t mess with time.”

“Oh shush,” Dagna said and leaned over to kiss Sera on the cheek. “This is important.”

The email explained how Anders was working with a colleague from Tevinter. It went into Dorian’s idea of replacing Anders’ healing with time magic that could be activated as needed. There were a number of attachments and Dagna click on the first one. Her eyes got huge and she pursed her lips.

“Oh, splendid!”

“S’just a bunch a squiggly lines and nonsense,” Sera leaned forward and squinted at the screen like it would help her understand Dorian’s equations and schematics.

“No, no. It’s magic! Unique and fascinating and…” Dagna hopped up and rushed back into her workshop. She grabbed a notebook and pencil before returning to the sofa. She immediately started making notes and additions to Dorian’s equations. “But maybe if we… No. If I alter this to… Yes! Oh. Yes. That would work,” Dagna mumbled as she worked.

By the time she’d made it through all the attachments, Dagna had filled a dozen pages of her book. She had a manic grin on her face and was physically vibrating with excitement. Sera returned her grin and gave her a quick kiss.

“Oh, I know that look. I’ll go make coffee, yeah?” Sera said and head up to the main floor.

“Thanks! I’ll be in the workshop!” Dagna called after her, already halfway through the workshop door.

“I know!” Sera called back with a laugh.

Her workbench was a disaster and the first thing Dagna did with scoop scraps of metal and glass into an old milk crate. She set her notebook on one corner and spread out a huge sheet of paper with little squares. She was sketching out a rune pattern with short, precise strokes when Sera arrived with the coffee. It was in a mug large enough to hold three normal servings.

“I’ll keep the pot on,” she said and set the large mug down.

“Mmhmm,” Dagna grunted, not stopping her drawing to acknowledge Sera.

When Dagna finally glanced up, Sera was gone and her workshop door was closed. Her eyes felt gritty like she had been forgetting to blink and she could feel the start of a headache. Probably dehydration. Or maybe low blood sugar. She grabbed the coffee Sera had left, took a drink and scowled. Cold.

“Yuck.” She set the mug down on the side of the workbench. “Sera!”

Sera appeared a short time after with a new mug and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. She gave Dagna a kiss on the top of her head as she shuffled aside from papers to set her burden down and then took the cold coffee away. Dagna spent a moment looking at the closed door with affection. Sera always knew how to look after her when she was working.

The coffee and cookies gave Dagna the boost she needed. Her head felt clearer and she returned to drawing up the schematics and runes for the shirt. She flipped between the notes in her book, frowning or pursing her lips as she tried to make sense of Dorian’s time magic. All her time studying with the mages and she’d never seen the like.

“So, if this is…Hm. But…” She mumbled to herself as she worked, making small notations next to her drawings. When she hit a block, she’d step back and look at the page from another angle, chewing the end of her pencil as she thought. She felt she was so close but just couldn’t figure out what she was missing.

“Come ta bed, love,” Sera said from the doorway. “It’s after three. You’ll get it in the mornin’.”

“Mm?” Dagna looked up from her page and blinked. The bright light streaming in from the other room made her squint and feel like an owl caught in the sunlight. “Yes. Coming.”

Dagna reluctantly put the pencil down and stepped away from the bench. She rubbed her eyes and sighed. _Yes. Sleep._ She suddenly felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Sera wrapped an arm around her shoulders as Dagna passed through the doorway and escorted her up the stairs to her room like she was afraid Dagna would change her mind and run back downstairs. It had happened.

Curled up in bed together, Sera’s arms around about her waist, Dagna quickly drifted off to sleep.

Time magic and runes danced in Dagna’s dreams. As did the Darkspawn of old who were said to be the cause of the Blight. She woke with a start and a small yelp. Sera snorted and rolled over so her back was to Dagna but did not wake. Dagna grabbed her phone from the nightstand and peered at the time. Six o’clock. She’d worked on less sleep before.

Careful not to wake Sera, Dagna slipped from the bed and pulled on the clothes she’d worn the day before. It was easier and quieter to raid the laundry bin than to rummage through the dresser. She wandered down the hallway to the kitchen and found the coffee maker still on and one cup’s worth still in the carafe. She should have been worried about a heated appliance being left on while everyone was sleeping, but she was mostly grateful that hot coffee was already prepared.

Coffee (and cookies) in hand, Dagna headed to the basement to continue her work. There was something from her dream that was nagging at her.

The coffee was half gone by the time she entered the workshop, and the plate of cookies was balanced precariously on the mug as Dagna chewed on one. She set the plate and mug on the edge of her workbench away from her sketches.

First step – review notes. Dagna flipped through the notebook, hoping something in it would flush out the nagging feeling into something concrete. She added tiny notes as she went, but nothing substantial. Next, she moved on to the schematics.  Nothing helped there either.

Dagna sighed, tapping her nose with her pencil as she stared at the paper. She consumed another cookie and finished off her coffee, and still hadn’t had her eureka moment. With a small shrug, she wandered into the other room and booted up the laptop.

When in doubt: research.

Most information about time magic was, not surprisingly, out of Tevinter. There were bits and pieces easily accessible but the more substantial information was behind a paywall and in Tevene. Dagna frowned and set the laptop down on the makeshift milkcrate table.

More caffeine was required.

Attempting to be quiet and not wake Sera, Dagna organized a new pot of coffee. She nibbled on more cookies as the machine percolated. She ran equations through her head, the popping and dripping of the coffee machine lulling her into a sort of trance. Dagna moved her fingers in the air, flicking and drawing invisible symbols. The movements became faster as she saw a solution and she let out a “Whoop!” before she’d remembered she was attempting to be quiet.

She covered her mouth with a hand and waited in silence. She listened for signs Sera had been disturbed. After a moment of hearing nothing, Dagna grinned. Coffee forgotten, she raced down the stairs, scooping up the laptop on her way into her workshop.

While not a computer whiz, Dagna knew her way around code. Still grinning, she worked to get access to one specific website. It didn’t take long for her to mask her IP and convince the site she was in Tevinter. Using a browser add-on to translate everything was the easiest part. She scrolled through, looking for specific keywords. She nodded as she read and made some adjustments to her notes. When she’d finished, she clapped her hands together in excitement and let out a “Yes!”.

One more look over her drawings, a couple little changes, and she shut the laptop and put it aside. Dagna shuffled through the contents on a shelf next to the workbench, setting aside thread and needle and paints. She looked around the room for something to put the rune on as a first test. Most of her workshop was metals or glass, not suitable for this specific project. She pursed her lips and glanced down at her t-shirt. With a small shrug, she stripped off the shirt and set it on the workbench. Going to the bedroom would take too much time and be too noisy.

The basement air was chilly and Dagna shivered, skin breaking out in raised bumps. There was a brief, very brief, moment where she considered running the risk of waking Sera but as she started working, the cold was quickly forgotten.

She sketched out the design of the rune on the shirt before taking up a needle and grabbing a red thread with a metallic sheen. The thread was thin, like a hair, and barely showed in the fabric of the shirt. Dagna added blue thread and purple as she worked, weaving them together and having them follow their own patterns. Enchanting was a mix of science and art. Dagna had loved it since she first read about it as a young girl. It was something a dwarf without magic could potentially manage. She’d made it her life’s work to refine and progress enchanting.

When she stepped back from the workbench to assess her work, there was a slight purple glow to the front of the shirt where the threads were. Dagna smiled, running a finger lovingly over the rune pattern. She grabbed up her phone and played a short, little chiming sound and the glow dissipated.

“Yes. Yes!” Danga bounced on her toes and clapped. She glanced around the room for something to test the enchantment out on. There was nothing that was terribly affected by time. She frowned, still bouncing on her toes, and then a thought struck her. That coffee!

Dagna raced up the stairs into the kitchen and poured a new mug of coffee to test the rune on and one as a control. She carried both mugs into the workshop, setting one in the centre of the bench. She draped the shirt over the mug and played the chime to activate the rune. The shirt glowed a faint purple. The other mug was set to the side to cool at a normal pace.

She felt agitated, needing something more to do than just wait. She opened the laptop and started composing a reply to Anders. She tried to keep her explanations simple but given the complexity of the work in original email, she was sure Anders’ partner would understand what she sent. She included all the steps required and took photos of her schematics to attach to the email.

Sera found Dagna sitting on her stool with no shirt on, typing away at the laptop.

“Widdle! The hells? You’ll catch a cold,” Sera ducked back out of the workshop and grabbed a blanket from the sofa. “Not to say I’m complainin’ ‘bout the view bu’ it’s freezin’ down ‘ere.” Sera wrapped the blanket around Dagna’s shoulders and hugged her tight from behind.

“Mmm. I’m fine. It’s really not that cold,” Dagna said but wiggled to nestle in the blanket and Sera’s arms. She shivered as she started to warm back up, having been completely unaware of how cold she really was.

“Lies,” Sera kissed the top of Dagna’s head and then rested her chin there. “Ya work it out?”

“I think so,” Dagna reached out to touch the control coffee, dipping a finger in and finding it lukewarm. She sucked the coffee from her finger and repeated the process with the rune-wrapped coffee. “Ow!” She shook her finger before sucking on it. “Yes. I think it works.”

Dagna grinned and spun on her stool. She hugged Sera, tightly enough to elicit a squeak, and then kissed her. “I did it,” she said before kissing Sera again.

“Of course, ya did,” Sera returned the kiss, fingers playing with Dagna’s hair. “You’re you. You always do it.”

“Almost always. But I’ll take the compliment.” Dagna grinned. She played the chime on her phone and watched as the rune deactivated and the glow disappeared. She clapped excitedly. “Now hopefully they have someone closer who can help make these. Even expedited, Ferelden and Marcher mail service can be unreliable.”

Sera waited, hugging Dagna around the waist, as Dagna finished off the email to Anders and sent it off. She eyed the shirt and grabbed up a paintbrush.

“Thought you were done?” Sera asked at her shoulder.

“Almost. Need to finish the art so it can dry and I can send it off. Just in case they can’t get anything there.” Dagna dipped the small brush in black painted and started outlining the entwined snakes of the Tevinter Imperium. Dagna grinned at the image.

“I’ll go make breakfast, right?” Sera sighed, nuzzling against Dagna’s neck.

“Mmm. That would be great. Eggs?” Dagna glanced away from her painting to kiss Sera’s cheek. “Thanks love.”

Sera grunted a noncommittal response and wandered off.

Dagna leaned over her workbench, nose nearly brushing the painted shirt as she worked. Her strokes were precise and efficient, and she was able to finish the small emblem before Sera called her up for breakfast. She glanced at the time and smiled. The post office would be open when she was done and she could ship the shirt off to Varric to get to Anders.

Her work would finally make a difference.

 

* * *

 

 

Sera and Dagna by the wonderful [lavanderlavellan on Tumblr! ](https://lavanderlavellan.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how long this chapter took (and it being a short chapter). We should (hopefully) be back on track. Hope the Sera and Dagna art helps you forgive me. :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blight arrives at Anders' clinic and Darktown is further cut off from the outside world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now back to your regularly scheduled mage programming.

As the quarantine progressed, life settled into a new type of normalcy. The riots ceased and were replaced by an uneasy truce between the authorities, Darktown citizens and the gangs. While the constabulary and Chantry pretended they were in control, in reality, the gangs had the most power: they had full control over the import and export of goods.

As Anders had suspected, the Chantry PR machine had churned out press releases about all the aid they were supplying to the souls trapped in Darktown; how they were aiding the sick and feeding the children. It was all bullshit.

Darktown residents saw no outside aid. Darktown was left to care for itself. Anders was left to care for Darktown.

As he was one of the few neutral people Darktown residents trusted, Anders' clinic had quickly become a hub of activity. It was one of the few places that regular citizens felt safe. They congregated at all hours to barter and trade goods and services as if they'd been plunged back into the Blessed Age. Anders was running out of room at his small clinic.

With most residents refusing to see the Circle healers at the quarantine medical centre, it wasn’t long before cases of Blight showed up at the clinic.

The first case was an elderly woman who’d been brought in by her son. He'd found her collapsed in her living room. Lirene was quick to usher them into an exam room and it didn't take much for Anders to conclude she’d contracted the virulent strain of the Blight. By the time Anders saw her, there was little he could do. He closed off one of the exams rooms, made her comfortable, and waited. He didn't need to wait long.

By midnight, the clinic was finally empty. Anders lay curled on an exam bed, arms wrapped around his legs and his forehead pressed to his knees. He felt drained. He heard soft footfalls and glanced up through the loose strands of his hair.

"I thought I locked the door," Anders mumbled against his knees. The fluorescent lights burned his eyes. They were sensitive from crying. He squinted, Dorian's form fuzzy.

"You did," Dorian said as he crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet to peer into Anders' face. "I can perform miraculous feats when I'm worried about someone."

Anders blinked until Dorian's features came into focus. He felt Dorian’s fingers brush against his forehead as he moved the loose hair from his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. He tried a smile. "I'm perfectly fine. Just overexerted myself today. I sat down for a minute and next thing I knew, I was asleep."

Dorian gave him an incredulous look but didn't push. He ran a finger lightly down Anders' cheek and then cupped his chin. He turned Anders' head gently from side to side and _tsk_ ed. "I prescribe cat cuddles and a good night's sleep."

"You're not qualified to prescribe anything," Anders laughed weakly, a small, genuine smile leaking out. He was grateful Dorian didn't push. "But the doctor concurs."

He uncurled, nearly tumbling off the narrow bed. Dorian reached out and grabbed his shoulders, guiding him to his feet and into a gentle hug.

"Can you make it upstairs?" Dorian asked against Anders' ear. Anders nodded, stepping back from Dorian's grasp to demonstrate his ability to hold himself up.

While Dorian let Anders walk on his own, Anders could feel Dorian's hand brush the small of his back as they ascended the stairs to the apartment. He smiled. As much as he hated being pathetic enough to warrant the concern, it felt good to have someone worried about him.  

Dorian ushered Anders straight to bed, tucking him in before climbing in on the other side himself. He pressed his chest to Anders’ back and wrapped an arm around him to pull him in tight, rubbing soothing circle's on his chest, just above his heart.

Dorian fell asleep first. Anders felt the change in his heartbeat against his skin and the steady breathing against his neck. He focused on the breathing, trying to match his own to the rhythm.

Every time he’d start to drift off, Anders’ mind would wander to the old woman’s son, kneeling next to the examination bed. He hadn’t cried. He’d knelt silently for an hour, clutching his mother’s hand with white knuckles. But Anders saw the tense set of his shoulders and the redness when he turned pleading eyes on Anders. Those eyes were haunting him.  The son's eyes, the old woman’s eyes, Bree’s eyes, Peter’s eyes. Every failure. Every person suffering.

At some point, he had finally drifted off to sleep and he woke with a small gasp. He sat up, breaking free of Dorian’s embrace, his heart racing and his throat tight. He struggled to breathe. The effects of the nightmare lingered but the true nature had already disintegrated into sleep dust. He looked around the alcove, taking deep breaths to suppress the panic. It was dark. _Completely_ dark. The panic closed in. He let out a little whimper, hugging his knees into his chest. His stomach roiled and sweat trickled down the back of his neck.

“Anders?” Dorian’s voice broke through the whooshing in Anders’ ears, but his throat felt too tight for words. All that escaped was another whimper. He felt the bed shift next to him, and Dorian’s fingers brush against his thigh. “Anders? Are you all right? What happened?”

Anders reached out, grasping Dorian’s hand tightly. The touch grounded him enough that he could call a magelight to life. The sudden flare was blinding, and he blinked as the room came back into existence. He’d made it too bright. He brought the intensity down and looked at Dorian. He was squinting at Anders, propped up on one elbow next to him, arm stretched out above him to grasp Anders’ hand.

“Are you all right?” Dorian repeated, emphasizing each word. Anders nodded, sucking in air and letting it out slowly.

“Too dark,” he managed to say between deep breaths. He shivered as the fear slid away. He ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, pushing it away from his face. Dorian was looking at him with confusion.

_Way to seem even more pathetic, Anders_. He sighed and squeezed Dorian’s hand again before releasing it. “I’m sorry. I’m just…” He trailed off and shrugged. “I have a dislike for the dark. Stems from a bit too much time alone in locked cellars,” he said flippantly.

_But why is it dark?_ One of Anders’ favourite things about his apartment was the streetlight outside that meant it was never truly dark. There was always some light. He slipped from the bed and padded to the living room, magelight following at his shoulder.

Pounce was sitting on the ledge in front of the huge windows that made up nearly the entire wall. He glanced up at Anders and gave a questioning _mrrt._ Anders reached down, dragging his fingers through the warm fur on Pounce’s back. The resulting purr helped calm his nerves.

The streetlight was out. Anders peered through the window, squinting in search of light. There was none. No light in a bedroom window. No harsh streetlamp. No flickering neon sign. Nothing. All that Anders could see was dark.

The gentle touch on his back made him gasp and tense up. Dorian’s voice was soft by his shoulder, “Darktown is certainly earning its name tonight.”

“We should be grateful they’ve already gotten the rioting out of their systems... or hopefully they have,” Anders reached back to find Dorian’s hand and squeezed it. “The question is… what happened?”

“Transponder blew? Was there flickering?”

“I don’t know… I just woke up and…” Anders shivered, “And it was darker than the Deep Roads.”

The horizon had the glow of light pollution, indicating the blackout wasn’t citywide. “They wouldn’t…” Anders frowned, rubbing his thumb over Dorian’s.  

“Who wouldn’t?” Dorian asked, taking Anders’ hand between both of his and stopped the worrying motion.

“The city. The Chantry. They’ve locked us in and now cut off the power. They’re stopping us from communicating with the rest of the city. With Thedas.” Anders yanked his hand from Dorian’s and rushed back into the bedroom. He dug his phone out of his pants pocket and looked at the icons along the top. No signal. “They blocked cell service as well.”

“What? Why?” Dorian’s voice drifted in from the living room. Anders could see the glow of Dorian’s own magelight.

“To keep us from telling anyone they’ve locked us in and are leaving us to die,” Anders said harshly.

“That seems extreme.” Dorian wandered back to the bedroom and leaned his hip against the wall. “Why would they do something like that?”

“What better way to rid the city of the undesirables? Darktown is home to the addicts, the whores, the cripples… the dregs and the drains of society. They can claim they closed us off for the safety of the city and that it is such a tragedy that everyone died.” Anders all but snarled. “We need to get word to Varric.”

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Dorian pushed off the wall and walked to Anders. He wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his forehead. “You should get more sleep.”

Anders hummed and shook his head. “I can’t sleep in the dark. I should go organize the clinic for the morning.”

“You can’t help if you’re exhausted,” Dorian nudged Anders towards the bed. Something that was becoming routine. “I can keep my magelight on so you can sleep.”

Dorian settled onto the bed, his back against the pillows and headboard, and pulled Anders down against him. He held Anders against his chest and squeezed his legs around his. 

“You’re right. But I don’t want you staying awake just to keep me from having a panic attack,” Anders mumbled, head feeling heavy against Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian snorted.

“I can’t help you heal, so the least I can do is make sure you’re in condition to tend your patients.”

Anders hummed in response but was already drifting back to sleep. He closed his eyes and focused on Dorian’s heart beating against his ear. He may not have intended to sleep but his body had other ideas.

 

Dorian left early for the tunnel to Hawke’s. He had organized a breakfast of leftover meat and potatoes while Anders showered, using magic to warm them, and stayed just long enough to ensure Anders ate. Anders watched him leave, a frown creasing his brow. He didn’t like Dorian making the trek by himself, but he had other things to worry about.

As soon as he finished eating, Anders head down to the clinic. The sun had barely risen above the line of buildings, but there were already patients waiting.

“I heard they blew up the power plant!”

“Who did?”

“The Qunari!”

Anders rolled his eyes as he moved through the small crowd. If that had happened, more than Darktown would be without power.

“Next they’ll poison the water! The mayor is going to try and get rid of the Blight by killing us all.”

_That’s probably not far from the truth_ , Anders thought glumly. He unlocked the clinic door and slipped inside, shutting behind him.

Lirene was already in the clinic, setting up battery-operated lanterns.

“Almost ready?” Anders asked. She glanced up at him and nodded.

“You doing okay?” She squinted at him. She _always_ knew.

“Fine now,” he pauses a moment to sigh, “I have to be.”

He grabbed up his lab coat and slung the stethoscope over the back of his neck. Lirene was standing near the door looking at him expectantly. He gave her a small nod.

“Here we go again,” she said and opened the door to patients.  

Any hope Anders had of the previous day’s Blight being another isolated case was dashed when the second patient arrived at the clinic later that day. This case was a girl of fourteen. She wandered into the clinic and Lirene triaged her, but her symptoms made Lirene think it was malnutrition and, again, the flu. The girl had been sick for over a week and looked gaunt and exhausted. She coughed, a hacking wet sound, and ran a fever. When Anders finally saw her, she was barely able to hold herself up. She stood to greet him and had to lean on the examination bed.

Anders frowned and quickly helped the girl to sit on the bed. He didn’t ask her questions, having what he needed already from Lirene. He listened to her lung and heart, glancing up to smile at the girl in an attempt to reassure.

“Can I use magic on you, Lily?” He asked levelly. She nodded, wide-eyed. Anders squeezed her upper arm and smiled warmly. “Lay back down on the bed for me.”

She settled in, closing her eyes tightly. Anders drew his hands over her chest and abdomen, hovering them just above the girl. He worked, searching until he found the sign he had expected. Blight.

Like Peter, Lily had contracted the wasting Blight. Anders pulled back with a small sigh. When she opened her eyes, concern written across her face, Anders smiled.

“I’m just tired. I’m going to pop out for a moment and I’ll be right back.” Anders stepped into the hallway and shut the door. He leaned against it, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath and headed to the back room. He unlocked the cabinet and drew out one of three remaining lyrium potions. He hoped Dorian brought some back with him or they would need a miracle. 

He downed the potion, shivering as he felt the effects. He’d been so low on mana, not daring to use the scarce lyrium, that his body reacted almost violently to the influx. With a sigh, he stepped back into the hallway. He waved Lirene to come back to him, whispering to her, “Anyone you can send home until tomorrow, do. Use the lack of lights as an excuse to get everyone home before it’s completely dark.”

Lirene nodded and went back to the front of the clinic. It would be the first time they’d closed up while there was still the hint of light outside.

Anders went back to Lily, forcing a smile before opening the door.

“I’m going to perform some healing magic. If you get scared or anything hurts, just let me know and I’ll stop immediately, okay?”

“Okay.” Lily squeaked out.

Anders set about healing any damage he could. He knew from the experience with Peter that it would just stall the inevitable, but he hoped this time Dagna or Varric would come through in time to help.

When he was finished, Anders sat heavily in one of two chairs in the little room. He closed his eyes a moment to stop the world from spinning.

“Are you okay, doc?” Lily asked. Anders smiled weakly and nodded.

“Perfectly fine. How are _you_ feeling?” Anders opened his eyes to see her sitting up on the bed. She shifted, sliding off to a stand.

“Better.” Her voice was stronger. It didn’t have the same choked off quality it had before. Anders’ smile was genuine this time.

“Come back in two days. Call me…” Anders stopped himself and sighed, “Send someone to fetch me if you need help and can’t get to the clinic.”

“Okay, doc. Thank you.” She quickly exited the room, moving as if fleeing.

Anders closed his eyes again and rested his head against the wall. He’d drifted off to sleep when Lirene poked her head into the room.

“…ders?” Anders grunted, jerking awake.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “What were you saying?”

“I’ve sent everyone else home and closed the clinic for the night. You should go up to bed.”

“Going,” Anders smiled weakly and pushed up off the chair. “Truly,” he said at Lirene’s doubtful look.

“I’ll just finish tidying up. You head upstairs and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Lirene’s statement left little room for argument and Anders did as he was told. He glanced down the street as he stepped out the clinic door and when it appeared empty, he called his magelight.

The apartment was quiet when he entered, Pounce appearing at his feet as usual. He scooped the cat up and gave him a nuzzle, before cradling him against his shoulder.

“Dorian?” He called as he closed the door. Nothing. Anders frowned. He wasn’t _that_ late, but he’d still expected Dorian to be back before getting home from the clinic. He set Pounce down and wandered to the kitchen.

“Let’s get you dinner.”

Anders set about caring for Pounce and by the time he was done he was exhausted. He glanced around the little apartment once more. He made sure the door was unlocked so Dorian could get back in if he arrived later that evening, then headed to bed.

He settled in on his side, Pounce hopping up to curl against his stomach. Anders held tightly to Pounce, closing his eyes against the dark that he knew would engulf him when he fell asleep and his magelight went out. He wished for the warmth and strength of a body pressed against his back as the night before. His last thoughts before falling asleep were of Dorian, wondering where he was at that moment.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian arrived in High Town to talk to Varric

When Dorian had decided to stay with Anders in Darktown, he’d been secretly relieved. The tunnel from the Hawke estate was musty, damp, dirty and cramped – not Dorian’s favourite conditions by a long shot. He wrinkled his nose at the squelching as his foot sank into something soft. On the trip into Darktown he’d learned not to look at what he was stepping on. Half the time it was a dead rat.

The trek took a good forty minutes and Dorian was clammy with sweat when he popped out into the wine cellar. He let out a relieved sigh, pushed the secret entrance shut and leaned against it. The air in the cellar might not have been fresh but it felt cool and sweet after the tunnel. Dorian took a moment to compose himself before going to the cellar door and stepping out into the early morning light.

He needed to get to Varric but had never attempted the trek to the Hanged Man on his own. Hoping Hawke was home and wouldn’t be too put off by a visitor so early, Dorian wandered to the front door of the mansion. He ran his fingers through his hair and twisted his moustache into something resembling order, then rang the doorbell.

It seemed an eternity before one half of the huge set of doors swung inward and a dwarf peeked out.

“May I help you?”

“Would Garrett Hawke be at home? It is rather urgent I speak with him.” Dorian tried to channel his upper-class civility while wanting nothing more than the burst through the doors and shake Hawke from his bed.

The dwarf eyed Dorian suspiciously before nodding. He stepped aside and gestured Dorian through the door.

“He is still in bed. I will go rouse him. Please have a seat in the study.”

Dorian was led to a large room that reminded him of the library at his parents’ estate in Qarinus. The dwarf left, and Dorian perused the bookshelves. He was surprised – Hawke hadn’t seemed the type to keep a library.

By the time Hawke wandered into the room, Dorian was sprawled in a large armchair, legs hooked over the side, reading a book on Antivan history. He glanced up when Hawke entered and smirked.

Hawke was dressed in baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt that said, “I don’t always do cardio but when I do it’s called sex”. Dorian choked on a suppressed snort.

“Dorian! What’s up? We thought you were staying with Anders.” Hawke walked over and pulled Dorian up into a crushing hug. Dorian returned the embrace with a one-armed pat on the back before wriggling free of the vice grip.

“I was until they turned off the lights and decided we were no longer allowed to communicate with the outside world,” Dorian said, leaning back against the chair. He draped an arm over the back and smiled at Hawke. “I need to have a bit of a chat with Varric, but to be honest… I have no idea how to get myself to the Hanged Man.”

“The lights…What?” Hawke frowned at Dorian. “Right. Yes. I think a chat with Varric is definitely in order.” Hawke jerked his head toward the door. “Come on.”

“It can wait a few minutes if you wish to get dressed.”

Hawke looked at Dorian with confusion. “I am dressed.”

Dorian cleared his throat and smiled politely. “Right. Off we go then. ” He stood and smoothed down his shirt before following Hawke out of the study.

Hawke led him through the main floor of the mansion and into a connected garage. Where Dorian might have expected a sports car or motorcycle sat an old Jeep. He climbed into the passenger side, frowning at the lack of proper sides or windows. There was no way his hair was going to survive the trip.

The drive was nerve-wracking and there were several times Dorian thought Hawke was going to get them killed. He let out a huge sigh of relief when they pulled up in front of the Hanged Man. He practically toppled out of the Jeep, happy to be on solid, unmoving ground.

Given the early hour, the bar was closed. Hawke led Dorian around to the side entrance that led up to the offices above, fishing the keys from his pocket as he walked.

Upstairs they found Isabela at the front desk. She gave Dorian a knowing look.

“So how do you like the electricity trick?” She asked before Dorian had even shut the door behind him.  She waggled her eyebrows and grinned.

“A gentleman never tells,” Dorian responded haughtily before winking at her. She laughed, a deep throaty noise, and winked back.

“That’s what I thought,” she said.

“Sparkler!” Varric’s voice boomed from the doorway to his office, saving Dorian any more embarrassing questions from Isabela. Dorian wandered back, leaving Hawke to flirt with Isabela. Dorian gripped Varric’s hand briefly and gave it a quick shake.

“Varric,” he said with a smile.

“Good to see you in once piece,” Varric ushered Dorian into the office and waved at a chair. “Though I am sorry it was a near thing. Should have made Fenris go. Sorry about that.”

Dorian shrugged one shoulder. “We’re all fine,” he paused a moment before adding, “Well, those of us who matter. I don’t think the Templar is feeling very fine. Though maybe he’s wrapped in Andraste’s arms and actually happy where he is as well.”

Varric snorted. “Despite what that Chantry tells them, I don’t think Templars like that get to go to Andraste’s bosom.” Varric settled into his chair and propped his feet on the desk. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your magnificent company? Wouldn’t have something to do with Darktown’s blackout, now would it?”

“You know about that already?” Dorian blinked and smirked. “Of course, you do.”

“Of course, I do,” Varric responded. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Well,” Dorian paused to consider. While it made sense, he hadn’t actually thought Varric would be aware of the blackout this soon. Telling him about it had been a large part of why he’d left Darktown. “We will need a new way to communicate. To arrange supply drops or in case of more trouble. Phones and internet are out, and it’s a bit of a ways to run a string attached to some cans.”

“True, though I like where your mind goes,” Varric said. “I’ve sent Fenris out to fetch some radios and a generator. We’ll just have to do this old school.”

“Oh joy, oh bliss,” Dorian mumbled.

“Cheer up, Sparkler. I’ve got good news.” Varric rummaged through a draw and tossed a small bottle at Dorian. Dorian caught the bottle and held it up to peer through the translucent plastic. “Your antibiotics.”

Dorian counted the pills inside and frowned. “Based on what Anders said, this is likely only good for one person.”

“That’s just the first bottle. I’m working on a more reliable supply. Call this the free trial.” Varric thumped his feet down onto the floor, sitting up straighter. “Anything else I could do for you?”

“Yes, actually.” Dorian stashed the pill bottle in his pocket, not wanting to set it down and forget it. Anders would be _ecstatic_ at Dorian returning with the medication. “I need to use a computer. We’re expecting an email from Dagna and there’s no way to get online from Darktown even once we have a generator.”

“We?” Varric grinned and Dorian rolled his eyes. “Sure thing. You can use my computer. I should go check on Hawke and Bela. They get into trouble when left alone for too long. Usually expensive trouble.”

Varric hopped up from his chair, spun it to the side to indicate Dorian could take it, and then left. Dorian stood, digging a piece of paper from his pocket before settling into Varric’s vacated seat. He set the paper on the desk and pulled up the web browser. On the paper were the details to sign into Anders’ email account.

_serPounce <3Chicken – what kind of password is that?_

Dorian was a touch uncomfortable with the idea of accessing someone else’s email, but Anders had insisted.

After signing in, Dorian could see why Anders didn’t care about privacy – there was practically nothing in the account. Dorian’s emails were still there, as were a couple from Varric, but otherwise it was bare. At the top of the list was a new email; a reply from Dagna. Dorian clicked on it.

As he read, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. A smile slowly grew into a grin and then a small noise of joy.

“Varric!” Dorian shouted, leaning to the side to look out the office door.

“What?” Varric shouted back. Dorian rolled his eyes.

“Do you have an enchantment expert here in Kirkwall?” Dorian lowered his voice back to a conversational tone as Varric walked back to the office.

“Enchantment? Sure. Sandal. He’s a bit…” Varric shrugged. “Hawke and I have used him before. He’s quite talented. Why?”

Dorian gestured Varric around the desk and pointed at the screen.

“Think he could make something based on Dagna’s instructions? Can you get the materials and have a few of these made?”

Varric squinted at the screen as he read before nodding. “Likely. Though I can’t make any promises at this point. We’ll see what we can do.”

He leaned in to take the mouse and sent the email to print.

“Thank you,” Dorian said, feeling a small weight lifting. They had some antibiotics and Dagna was claiming success with the time enchantment. With those two things handled to the best of his ability, Dorian decided he could take a few moments for himself. “Hey Varric?”

“Hm?” Varric hummed as he wandered back into the office with the printouts.

“Did you ever get me a new phone?”

“Sure,” Varric said and pulled out a drawer. He tossed a small box at Dorian. “Not sure it is of much use to you now, though.”

“It is of use while I’m out here.” Dorian began unpacking the phone as he talked. “Mind if I pop back to the estate and what remains of my meagre belongings? I’m a touch short on clothes and I’m not sure how we’re even going to wash things as this point.”

“The old-fashioned way?” Varric responded.

Dorian just blinked.

“Using your hands and some soap and water?” Varric added.

“And dry out these gorgeous hands?” Dorian gasped dramatically as he held up his hands. “Perish the thought. I will do no such thing.”

Varric laughed. “Well you better make yourself useful to someone who isn’t averse to some physical labour, otherwise you’re going to get ripe pretty fast.”

Dorian wrinkled his nose and chose not to respond. He booted up the phone, noticing the low battery level. _Of course_.

“I’m going to head to the estate. I’ll go back to Darktown after dark. Any supplies you’ve got, I’ll take them with me. Just have them in the cellar.” Dorian clapped Varric on the shoulder as he squeezed between him and the desk. “Thank you for all the help.”

“It’s what I do,” Varric said with a shrug. “Hawke’ll drive you back to Hightown.”

 

* * *

 

Plugging the phone in to charge was the first thing Dorian did when he got to his room.  It was of no use nearly dead and Dorian knew he only had a little time in an area with signal. He let it charge while he packed up the few pieces of clothing he owned. At least he could stop wearing Anders’ sweatpants and cat shirts. It really was a good thing Dorian rarely needed to leave Anders’ apartment.

After his last shirt was in the bag, Dorian checked the phone. It was nearly half charged. He sighed, leaving it again. He went to gather his toiletries from the en suite and frowned at his reflection. He looked a complete fright.

Between not having his toiletries and focusing on the whole “plague and quarantine” fiasco, Dorian hadn’t taken his usual care in grooming. There was stubble from days without shaving, his moustache was bushy and in need of a trim, and his skin was in dire need of moisturizer.

Setting out his kit, Dorian proceeded to give his face a thorough wash and the proper care it had been missing. He smiled at his reflection as he soothed moisturizer over his newly smoothed skin. He carefully lined his eyes with kohl and finished by applying wax to his moustache and twisting it into proper order. He turned his head to the left and then the right, eyeing his reflection.

“Much improved,” he said to himself and grinned. He packed everything into the travel pouch and walked back into the bedroom. He tossed the pouch next to his bag on the bed and checked the phone’s battery again. It was over sixty percent. “That’ll do.”

Dorian unplugged the phone and tapped into the number pad and…stared at it. He hovered a finger over the numbers, hesitating. With a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, he dialled Felix.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Dorian held his breath, preparing himself for when it once again went to voicemail.

“Hello?” Felix’s voice said. It was frail and cracked as he spoke, but it was Felix.

The air whooshed out of Dorian’s lungs and he collapsed onto the bed. There was a prickling at the back of his eyes. He tried to speak but the words caught in his throat and came out a tiny squeak.

“Hello?” Felix repeated. He sounded so tiny. So lost. Dorian’s heart ached, and he tasted the salt of tears as he licked his lips to try speaking again.

“Felix! Oh Fee! It’s so good to hear your voice. I was so worried. You weren’t answering your calls or returning my texts and then my phone broke and I had no idea what was going on and…”

“Dorian? Dorian, slow down.” There was a feeble laugh as Felix cut Dorian off. “I’m fine, Dor. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“You don’t sound fine. What _happened_ , Fee?” Dorian’s insides felt knotted and he felt helpless as he listened to Felix straining to talk.

“I had a turn and was hospitalized.”

“Oh, Fee –“

“I’m fine now,” Felix said firmly. “They had me on intravenous fluids and medication for a few days. I’m on bed rest but there’s nothing new about that.”

Felix paused to cough and inhale a wheezing breath. Dorian stayed silent, not sure what to say.

“I did send texts and tried calling when I got out of the hospital. I was taken suddenly, and father refused to bring my phone. Said it would just cause me added stress.” Dorian could practically hear the eyeroll attached to that. Gereon truly cared of his son but it often showed in extreme ways. “Where were _you_?”

Dorian considered how much to tell Felix. The Templar attack was out. Quarantine was probably making the news even in Tevinter…

“Remember that tall, older mage I mentioned? That’s where I was,” Dorian said lightly.

Felix laughed.

“The poor one who wears cat shirts that definitely _isn’t_ your type?” Felix teased. “The one you were convinced was straight? That one?”

“Yes. That one. It might not happen often, but I am willing to admit it – I was wrong. On all accounts.” Dorian couldn’t help but smile now as he thought of Anders in the Apawstate shirt the first night they’d met. The shirt was still a fashion crime, but all of Anders’ cat shirts now had a place in Dorian’s heart.

“Did Dorian Pavus just admit to being wrong? Can you repeat that for me so I can record it for when you deny it later?” Felix laughed, a quiet, breathless chuckle. 

“I certainly will not,” Dorian said indignantly. He softened his tone as Felix coughed again. “You’d like him, Fee.” A slow smile spread across Dorian’s face as he spoke of Anders. “He’s intelligent. Clever. Funny. Caring… too caring.”

“Wow, Dor. You’ve got it bad.” Felix quipped.

Dorian snorted, shaking his head. “Lies. Slanderous lies.”

“I’ll remember you said _that_ on your wedding day.”

“Do _not_ mention a wedding to Mae. She’ll start planning the reception now and then force me to propose to ensure we have the wedding at the correct time of year.” Dorian paused to consider. “On second thought: don’t mention any of this to Mae just yet, hm?”

“No promises,” Felix replied.

“You’re trouble, Felix Alexius. Trouble.” Dorian grinned. He lounged back on the pillows, feeling like a teenager again – gossiping about crushes over the phone with his best friend. For a moment, there was no disease. No death. There was just Felix and Dorian.

“What happened to your phone?” Felix changed the subject and the mood was broken.

“I tripped and fell, cracking the screen beyond fixing. Took me a bit to get a replacement. You know – too busy spending time with the new man.” Dorian tried to be flippant and get the mood back. He didn’t want to think about the Templar. Didn’t want to think about the Blight.

Felix did laugh but he didn’t quite fall for the bait. “Is this your new number?”

“It is. Though since I’m staying in Darktown, you won’t be able to get a hold of me. I’ll leave it with a friend and he’ll get any messages to me. Promise.”

“Darktown?” Felix sounded alarmed. Of course, he did.

“It’s fine, Fee. Really. I’m with the best healer in Kirkwall. And you know me, I’m indestructible.”

“Dorian…” Felix started coughing, but the moment it subsided he continued. “I know there is nothing I can do or say to stop you from staying there but… Please be careful. _Please_.”

The stinging returned to Dorian’s eyes and he had to swallow down a lump in his throat. He considered telling Felix why he was there. Asking if he’d read the study from the Qunari. But Felix sounded so weak, he didn’t want to excite him. Or upset him further. Not quite yet… not until they knew.

“I promise I’ll be careful. It’s not like I’m going to actually touch a sick person, now is it? Ugh. I prefer them when they’re fully dead,” he joked. It was out of his mouth because he realized how horrible and tactless that sounded. Thankfully, Felix laughed.

“Maker forbid you have to do that.”

“Dorian? Dorian! You coming or what?” Hawke’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“Sorry, Fee. I have to go.” Dorian nearly choked on the words. Every time he said goodbye he worried it would be the last time he spoke to Felix. Every time he wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

“Go enjoy your quarantine with your handsome doctor,” Felix said lightly. “Just send me an email or something once in a while to let me know you’re still alive.”

“If you promise to do the same.”

“If father confiscates my phone and laptop because they’re too taxing, I’ll just start smuggling notes out through Mae when she visits. Never worry.”

“I will always worry,” Dorian said gravely.

“Dorian! Are you in there?” Hawke was right outside Dorian’s room now.

Dorian covered the phone and shouted, “Be out in a minute!”

“Stop being so serious and go do whatever it is you’re doing there. And no, you don’t have to give me the details,” Felix joked.

“Take it easy, Fee. No more hospitals,” Dorian said, trying to make his tone lighter.

“I’ll certainly do my best. Bye, Dorian. Stay out of trouble.”

“No promises. Bye, Fee.”

As always, Dorian waited for Felix to end the call. When the screen flicked back to the number pad, he turned the phone off and shoved it in his pocket. He quickly added the travel pouch with toiletries into his bag and headed to the door.

Hawke was leaning on the wall opposite the door, fiddling with his phone. He glanced up at Dorian and grinned. “Fenris got your generator and radio. Rest of the supplies are boxed up and ready to go in the cellar.”

“How am I supposed to get a generator, radio, and whatever else you’ve boxed up, to Darktown on my own?” Dorian asked as they walked down the hall towards the front door.

“Who said you’d have to do it on your own? After what happened last time, Varric is sending Fen with you.”

“Fenris? The mage-and-Tevinter-hating elf that glows and removes vital organs? That Fenris?”

Hawke grinned and clapped Dorian on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine. He’s been told to leave your organs where they are.”

“Well that certainly eases a weight off my shoulders. I bet we’ll be best of friends now that Varric has told the wolf to play nice,” Dorian quipped then sighed. “I’m doomed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like many things, Anders' password is courtesy of my beta.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris escorts Dorian back to Darktown so Dorian can give Anders the antibiotics.

With Fenris along, magelights were out of the question. Just the suggestion earned Dorian a glare and a reproachful comment. Instead, they resorted to mundane lanterns. As they walked, Dorian attempted to make nice with Fenris.

“You do recall I am not a magister, correct? Your ire is very much misdirected.”

“What is that saying… Beating a dead horse?” Fenris glanced over his shoulder at Dorian. “You are a Tevinter mage from the upper class. Your title is irrelevant.”

“Not really. I have no political power.  Ergo I have no control over the laws in Tevinter.”

“You have money, therefore, you have power. You do not need a seat in the Imperium to affect the law,” Fenris said as if he was schooling a child.

“Ah, but I have neither wealth nor power. Well, other than the power in my fingertips. My family does, but I am…” Dorian considered how best to explain his relationship, or lack thereof, with his parents. “…estranged from my family. All I have from them is the Pavus name and that does little good on its own. Especially in the South.”

Fenris paused. He turned to look at Dorian, tilting his head slightly to the side. He seemed to consider Dorian before snorting.

“Poor spoiled Altus exiled to the barbaric south. However do you manage?”

“Fairly well, I’d say,” Dorian said lightly.

Fenris made a disgusted noise and turned his back on Dorian.

“Clearly,” he said and started walking again.

Silence fell as they walked. Dorian considered how to have a calm, normal conversation with Fenris. He didn’t know the elf well enough to know what would set him off and what wouldn’t.

“So what area of Tevinter are you from?” Dorian asked when the silence became oppressive.

“Seheron.”

Dorian stopped walking.  He stared at Fenris’ back, sharp quip suddenly swallowed.

“Were you there during the war?” Dorian asked quietly.

“Yes,” Fenris responded matter-of-factly. “Now stop your chittering, as you clearly cannot walk and talk at the same time and the longer you stand there the longer I am stuck with your company.”

After those two attempts at conversation, Dorian gave up. He was too exhausted anyhow. While Fenris was hauling the generator and most of the supplies using a handcart, Dorian was still carrying a heavy load.  He was grateful when the exit was finally in sight.

"Varric gave me an address," Fenris said as he opened the hidden door into the basement of what had once been Anders' clinic. He let Dorian squeeze by before pulling the cart through and shutting the door.

"An address to...?" Dorian prompted. He swung his lantern around, looking for signs someone else had been in the little room. Everything was as he'd left it early that morning.

"A larger space for Anders' clinic. Closer to here. Easier to manage supply drops." Fenris set his lantern on a crate and began removing boxes from the cart.

"What, precisely, are you doing?" Dorian asked, setting down his burdens.

"I cannot drag the loaded cart up the basement steps. I must unload the boxes first and we will carry them up and reload it."

Dorian scoffed. "How about I just move everything the easy way?"

"Easy wa-" Fenris started to ask and then froze. Dorian could swear he heard the grinding of Fenris' teeth. "No. No magic. If you will not help properly I shall do it myself. It will just take longer."

For a moment, Dorian considered taking a nap and letting Fenris do all the manual labour. But, no. Dorian sighed, set his lantern on a high shelf and rolled up his sleeves.

"Fine," he said and started unloading the cart from the side opposite Fenris.

They worked in silence. Dorian didn't give Fenris the satisfaction of dropping a box or grunting in exertion. In fact, the movement felt good after being cooped up in Anders' apartment for so long.

When the cart was emptied Fenris bounded up the narrow stairs out of the basement and cracked the door open. Based on the absence of light, night had fallen over Darktown. Fenris peered out the door before disappearing out into the blackness, lantern left behind.

As time ticked on, Dorian listened for signs of struggle or distress. He strained to see beyond the fall of the lantern light, squinting up the stairs as if it would give him night vision. The quiet should have soothed his nerves, but instead he grew concerned. He was considering venturing out when he heard the scuff of feet from above. Instantly, electricity arced between his fingers. He held his hands inches apart, forming the energy into a tight ball.

"Kaffas, mage! Put that out before you hurt someone!" Fenris said from the darkness.

 After a moment's hesitation, Dorian let the lightning crackle and die. The air retained a static charge, however, and when Fenris finally stood in a pool of light, his hair was puffed out in all directions. Dorian had to swallow a snicker.

"You laugh, you die," Fenris said flatly.

Dorian didn't doubt it and quickly stifled his mirth. When he was confident he could speak without laughing, he said, "Quite beneficial having someone with night vision around during a blackout.  Was it that or your proficiency in organ removal that prompted Varric to send you with me?  Or perhaps it was your ability to phosphoresce." Dorian paused and considered. "Why are we even using lanterns?"

Fenris was suddenly standing right in front of Dorian. His face was mere inches away and he was baring his teeth. "I am not some parlour trick here to amuse you or a convenience to make your life easier," he said through his teeth. "I am done being a pawn to magisters."

Dorian lifted his hands in a placating gesture. "I meant no offence. It just struck me that it was one more thing we needn't carry. And since you will not allow me to use magic to light the way..."

"The lanterns are for _your_ benefit. As you noticed, I can see perfectly fine in the dark. You, on the other hand, would likely trip and crack your skull." Fenris stepped back and spun on his heels. "We are wasting time. Come along. We need to get this cart up the stairs and the boxes reloaded."

It took both of them to get the small cart up the stairs. They hooked one lantern to the handle of the cart and left the other in the basement, providing meagre light on both levels.

As they worked, Dorian had to fight the urge to use magic to light the way. The darkness felt oppressive. One lantern didn't cast nearly enough light. Dorian suddenly understood, at least to some degree, how Anders had felt when he woke to find Darktown plunged into darkness. Dorian wasn't anywhere near panic, but there was a tickling feeling along the back of his neck – that feeling you'd get as a child when you weren't quite sure if you were alone in the darkness.

When they were loaded, Fenris took the lead. He walked in the opposite direction from where Dorian would have headed to get back to Anders. Dorian was suddenly concerned he'd never find his way back without the use of his phone. He had the fleeting thought that perhaps that was the point; that Fenris was taking him deep into Darktown to kill him. Dorian watched the elf's back and snorted at himself.

Despite the attitude, Fenris didn't actually strike Dorian as the murderous type. The "you hurt my friends, I'll beat you to within an inch of your life" type perhaps, but not the "I don’t like your face so I'm going to smash it in” type. The more he considered it, the more he felt safer having Fenris around.

It was a short walk to the building Varric had sent them to. Dorian had no idea how Fenris found the right building but he suspected night-vision played a role. Dorian tried to make some detail that would let him recognize the building later, but in the darkness it was futile

"So, just a small question here but," Dorian leaned casually against the cart and looked at Fenris. "How exactly am I to find this place again?"

Fenris snorted and fished in his pocket. He held out a folded piece of paper which Dorian took and quickly unfolded.

It was, not surprisingly, a map.

Dorian glanced up in time to catch Fenris rolling his eyes. _That_ he could make out [even?] in the dark.

“I suppose the concept of a non-digital map is foreign to you,” Fenris said. He leaned in to point at the map. “These are the roads. You can find their names –“

“I am quite capable of using a map, thank you.” Dorian quickly shoved the map into a pocket and glared.

“That remains to be seen.” Fenris fished a key from his jacket and unlocked the blue metal door. It creaked as he pushed it open, and the sound seemed to echo off the darkness around them.

The lanterns did little to illuminate the space inside.

 “Charming,” Dorian drawled, letting his bag slip from his shoulder and fall to the floor.

“We could just get Anders working out of the sewer if that would suit you better. I think it would suit him quite nicely.”

Dorian couldn’t see Fenris but he was sure he was smirking. It was a real shame he was missing it.

“Oh yes. A sewer healer mage. Treating the poor from a dark and dank hole underground. Sounds like a bad novel.” Dorian sniffed. He took his lantern and started exploring the building.  From what he could make out in the dim light, it had been an office space at one point. There were a number of tiny rooms lining a wide hallway. It would make a decent doctor’s office, though Dorian wasn’t going to suddenly change his tune and admit that to Fenris.

“Are you going to assist me with this or just wander around for the rest of the night? The sooner we unload this cart, the sooner you can get your beauty rest. I am guessing you have a whole routine you follow that likely takes hours.”

“Oh no,” Dorian said as he wandered back towards the sound of Fenris’ voice. “I’m just naturally this good looking. Though I’m glad you noticed. I was starting to think you were immune to the Dorian Pavus charm.”

There was a barked laugh followed by a disgusted grunt. “I noticed you preen like a girl at the Rose.”

“The Rose?” Dorian asked. He set his lantern on top of his bag so elevate the light, the started unloading boxes from the cart.

“The whorehouse,” Fenris replied.

“Oh,” Dorian smirked. “You are well acquainted with the girls at the Rose, are you?”

“No,” Fenris said and didn’t elaborate.

Too tired to continue the banter with Fenris, Dorian shrugged it off and put all his attention on unloading the cart. They carted the generator and fuel into a back room that was likely a supply closet at one point. They worked together to lift it and set it in the corner. Fenris gave Dorian a quick overview of how to use the generator.

“I think even you can manage this without breaking it. Or hurting yourself.” Fenris looked Dorian over and added, “Then again, maybe not.”

“Your confidence in me warms my heart,” Dorian said and pressed a hand to his heart. “Now can I get back to Anders’ place and collapse into a nice warm bed?”

“I don’t know. Can you? Think you can find your way in the dark?”

Dorian considered and then sighed. “I would greatly appreciate it if you’d help me get back to the clinic,” Dorian said sincerely.

Fenris paused, looking at Dorian. He nodded slowly. “Fine. I was going there anyhow. Varric sent supplies to go directly to Anders, but you’re hauling the cart this time.”

There were three small boxes still left on the cart. Dorian loaded his bag onto it, handing his lantern off to Fenris, who stepped out into the street first. He held the door open for Dorian to follow.

When the building was locked up, they began the slow process of walking to the clinic. It wasn’t far but the Darktown streets made moving fast with the cart impossible. They had to dodge the remnants of torched cars, tipped over trash bins, and homeless people sleeping on street vents. It was like a labyrinth of desperation and poverty.

The faint light from the lanterns gave everything a harsher edge than it had in daylight, and by the time they reached the clinic, a pit had formed in Dorian’s gut. He couldn’t remember anything like Darktown in Tevinter… but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Fenris was right: he was a spoiled Altus just playing at roughing it. He had no idea how these people – how Anders – spent their lives. Even at his poorest, he had never slept next to the shell of a car.

The door to the apartment was unlocked but it was dark. Dorian didn’t like the thought of Anders asleep with the door unlocked after all he’d seen during the walk there. He suppressed the urge to call out to him.

After the last trip down, Fenris took Dorian by the arm and pulled him to the side. Dorian tensed up, yanking his arm back.

“If I was going to harm you, you would get no such warning,” Fenris said with a snort.

“It was a natural startle reflex,” Dorian responded, dusting off his jacket sleeve. He was sure if he’d been watching he’d have seen Fenris roll his eyes at him again.

“There is one last item for you. The radio.” Fenris dug around in a backpack he’d been carrying since the start and pulled out a ham radio. “It is battery operated. Use the generator to charge it as needed.”

Dorian took the radio and turned it over in his hands. It looked simple enough.

“Any instructions?” Dorian asked as he poked at a switch.

“We’ll be on frequency 145.1100. Remember that. Use Varric’s nicknames as handles – Sparkler, Blondie, and so on. Otherwise, I think you’ll manage.”

“Hm,” Dorian grunted, unconvinced but unwilling to admit to a lack of knowledge. He shrugged and shoved the radio under one arm to hold a hand out. “Thanks for all the help.”

“Don’t mention it.” Fenris looked at the hand and turned to leave. “I mean it.”

The handcart was quickly folded up into a more manageable two-wheeled cart and the lantern was extinguished, plunging them into darkness.

“Oh, and one of those boxes is for you,” Fenris said.

Dorian heard his footsteps and the quiet thunk and clink of the cart as Fenris walked away. He held his breath and counted to sixty before calling a small magelight to hover near his shoulder.

“Much better,” he said to himself and ascended the stairs to Anders’ apartment.

Stepping around the three small boxes of supplies and his own bag, Dorian looked around the apartment. He stood quietly to see if he could hear Anders’ snoring. There was nothing. With a small shrug, he crouched down to look at the boxes.

Two of them were the usual, nondescript boxes always used. The third was larger and labelled “Sparkler”.

“Well, I suppose that one must be mine,” Dorian said dryly and set the radio on top of one of the unlabelled boxes, then picked up the labelled box. He carried it to the living room, stepping lightly so as not to disturb Anders, and set it on the little coffee table. He unfolded the top and peered inside, his magelight still hovering at his shoulder. There were two boxes inside the larger one, and Dorian pulled the larger of the two out. There was a note taped to the top that read:

_To entertain the strung-out healer in times of darkness._

Inside was a ukulele. Dorian snorted as he remembered Varric’s comment when he first sent Dorian to Anders. He set the instrument gently on the table, trying to make as little noise as possible, before pulling out the second box. It was a shoebox for a pair of red pumps. This box also had a note, written in a smoother script than Varric’s. This one said:

_Have fun boys._

 It wasn’t signed.

Dorian lifted the lid of the box and reached in, plucking out a box of condoms.

“Isabela,” he said with a chuckle.

“Dorian?” Anders' voice drifted from the bedroom alcove, rough with sleep.

“I’m here. Sorry if I woke you.”

“I never sleep through the night…” Anders trailed off. Dorian could hear rustling and then Anders was standing next to the screen separating the bed from the rest of the apartment. He wore a long t-shirt with, of course, a cat on it and his boxers. He rubbed his eyes and then squinted. “Oh. I had hoped the light was the power having come back.” He sounded disappointed.

“Afraid not. Though I have good news.” Dorian set the box of “gifts” from Isabela on the table and motioned Anders over.

Anders padded softly to the couch and settled down next to Dorian. Dorian immediately grabbed the blanket off the back and wrapped it around Anders’ shoulders.

“What’s the news?” Anders asked with a yawn.

“We have a new venue for the clinic… and it has a generator.”

A look of confusion crossed Anders’ face and he blinked at Dorian. “New venue? Generator? How?”

“Varric, of course,” Dorian said with a small laugh. “He sent Fenris with me with supplies, including a generator. And a radio.” He gestured toward the other boxes and the radio.

“Of course he did.” Anders smiled. He reached out and grabbed Dorian’s arm, pulling himself up against Dorian’s side. He cuddled up close and sighed. “I was worried when you didn’t come back.”

“I’m more than fine. Varric ensured I had an appropriate, if perhaps unwilling, escort.” Dorian kissed the top of Anders’ head, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in tightly.

“What’s in that box?” Anders pointed at the shoebox Dorian had been looking at when Anders had first stepped into the room. It was hard not to just laugh.

“A present from Isabela.”

“Oh dear.” Anders leaned forward to grab it off the table. He pulled the lid off before Dorian could stop him. Dorian could feel his Anders’ body shake before he heard the laugh. “Only Bela,” Anders choked on the words as he laughed.

The first item he pulled free was definitely a dildo. Though it was purple and _huge_.

“What in Andraste’s name does she expect us to do with _that_?” Dorian said, appalled.

“Cat toy?” Anders held it up and jiggled it in the air. It wiggled like it was made of jelly.

“Just no.”

“You’re probably right. Pounce is much too innocent for sex toys.” Anders set the dildo aside and pulled out the next item. Another box of condoms. “At least she’s making sure we’re well prepared?”

“I worry that she thinks our love life already requires aids.” Dorian held up a black anal plug. “Now seriously. Like we have time for any of this. People are dying around us and we’re just going to stay in bed and play with toys.”

 “This is one of those toys you can use and still get proper work done. If you have the willpower to focus.”

Anders pressed closer, snatching the plug from Dorian’s hands. He turned it slowly and looked at Dorian with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Ow.” Dorian squirmed away from where Anders pressed against his side. He reached into his pocket to pull out what had pressed into his hip. It was the bottle of antibiotics.

“What is that?” Anders snatched the bottle away and peered at the label. He let out the most adorable, childish squeal as he read. “Oh! Varric did it! He got the antibiotics!”

“He’s working on more, but yes.”

“It’s enough for one patient. At least we can see if it works,” Anders said as he looked through the plastic of the bottle. “Oh, Dorian!” Anders grabbed him in a tight hug and was suddenly kissing him.

When he was finally released from the kiss, Dorian couldn’t help but laugh. He held Anders close. “And he has someone named Sandal working on Dagna’s enchantment. She already managed to figure it out. That girl _is_ a genius. And since that’s coming from me, it must be true.”

Dorian was caught in another quick kiss and then Anders was gone from his arms. Dorian sat stunned as he watched Anders leap up and march to the bedroom. He was mumbling something and a minute later reappeared full clothed. He had his own magelight hovering above him and was grinning.

“I have the perfect patient for these.” Anders was toying with the pill bottle. He walked over to where Dorian was still sitting on the couch and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He didn’t say anything else, just grabbed a coat and slipped out the front door.

Dorian was left staring at the closed door utterly confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, _so_ sorry for how long it took to get this update out. Thanks for sticking with me. The remaining updates will probably all be a bit erratic. My apologies.


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